


The Lion of Skyhold

by CometEclipse



Series: Thedas's Fairy Tales [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Angst, Bodyguard, Cullenlingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, First Time, Fluff, Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort, Kitty Cullen, Love, Lyrium Withdrawal, Plot Twists, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Transformation, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 79,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CometEclipse/pseuds/CometEclipse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Cullen has disappeared, and Inquisitor Paile Lavellan is determined to find him. Little does she know that a spell gone wrong has transformed Cullen into a cat, the same cat who has appointed himself her personal bodyguard.</p>
<p>A world of Thedas retelling of Sleeping Beauty!</p>
<p>
  <b>Chapter 1 has been edited! </b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Announcements!

**Author's Note:**

> My Inquisitors name is spelled Paile, and it is pronounced Pale, such as being light in color. The idea for this story came from a very light hearted one, but quickly morphed into a full length and complex story. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
>  
> 
> [ Link to my Tumblr ](http://cometeclipsewriting.tumblr.com/)

I am slowly going to be updating all the chapters in this story, to give them the benefit of my years of practice.

First of all, I just want to apologize for how long it took me to edit this first chapter... it desperately needed it, at least for the spelling mistakes! (I am sure there are still mistakes, but hopefully far less, lol.) And I think it flows much more nicely now.

Secondly, I am going to be 'adding' a chapter each time I do an edit, so you will notice that it has recently updated.

I hope you all enjoy the polishing! On to the story!

P.S. If you want to leave comments, please leave them on the actual story, and not on this 'chapter'! I am going to be deleting this one, and don't want to lose your lovely words!


	2. Chapter 2

Dark red pulsed out from a meager fireplace, doing little to illuminate the massive stone room. Shadows flickered eerily over the tall creature staring at the flames, mirroring the burning in its’ eyes.

“The Inquisition is no match for one such as I.” The creature spoke, malformed lips perpetually twisted into a sneer, his voice strange and hypnotic. “The Anchor may be set, but it is of little matter. This… ‘Inquisitor’ cannot hope to stand against me. She is but an elven mortal; nothing to a God.” His voice deepened, his full belief giving the words deep power.

He turned towards the ex-Templar, standing back in the darkness behind him. Lording down from his extreme height, he uttered, “She will fall when next we meet. Continue with your mission.”

Samson bowed low, a hint of mockery in the gesture. The Magister, expecting such deference as his due, missed it entirely. “My Lord,” Samson spoke while still inclined, “I know that this Herald is not a rival to you. We all know it.” He looked up here, “However, there is something that I would discuss with you.”

When Samson’s words did not provoke a whiplash from his lord, only a slight nod, he straightened and proceeded. “The Inquisition has become popular with the little ants; peasants are flocking to them. Their army continues to grow.” His tone slid into a sneer. “Commander Cullen,” Samson spat the name, the consonants coming out sharp and mocking, “is someone I know. A Templar. Although he is an idiot for joining the Inquisition, he is capable of training a strong army; one that may someday come close to becoming a hindrance to your goals.”

Corypheus turned and considered the meager flames, watching as they snapped and writhed. “We have assassins for such idiots.”

Samson licked his lips and cautiously offered, “He is a Templar, My Lord. He has the addiction.”

The misshapen head turned slowly towards the red eyed man. “Then turn him.”

A sickening smile spread across Samson’s face, one full of relish and revenge. He bowed long and low, placing his hand on his breast as he backed away. “Your will be done, My Lord.”

***

Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition’s armies, leaned back in his chair, arching his body with a grimace. Not only was it late, the candle stubs the only source of light, but he could feel the itch under his skin. The nagging pull of the box that sat in one of the drawers of his desk. He fought against the urge to pull it out; to lay it on the table and stare at every memorized detail. Not to open it, but to just… but on those instances, the lyrium won. Though he had never succumbed to the desire to imbibe of the bright blue liquid, it was still ruling him. Sometimes he didn’t wonder if it wouldn’t be the wiser choice to just give in and take it.

Cullen roughly pushed away from the table, rolling his shoulders beneath his armor. Dwelling on his addiction just made it more difficult. He was tired; he should try to get a little sleep. The rest of his reports could wait until after tomorrow morning’s drills. Cullen headed towards the ladder that led up to his makeshift bedroom. Inquisitor Lavellan would be drilling tomorrow, some rare one-on-one practice with him. A small smile ghosted over his lips, softening the tension in his forehead. She had said she wanted to spend more time with him…

No sound had been made, but Cullen froze instantly, his senses on high alert. Something had made him stop with one foot on the ladder rung, his eyes sweeping the room. Nothing was out of place, but there was assuredly something wrong. Slowly, Cullen backed into the corner of his office, his hand dropping to the pommel of his sword and drawing it. His instincts had gotten him this far in life, through Ferelden and Kirkwall. A warrior does not ignore them and last.

He leveled his breathing, slow and quiet. In the night, he could hear the wind that always blew through the tall peaks, the faint sound of insects and animal noises. Troops patrolled the walls, and he knew that the two set of boots he could hear were the typical patrol. What he sensed did not seem to be from outside.

There was an abrupt tingle in the air, a sudden dampening of the senses. A thrill went up Cullen’s spine. He knew this magic; he remembered the feel of it from his prison in Kinloch Hold. His stomach tightened and rolled, panic trying to break through his discipline.

From his loft, a slight figure dropped, a hand flashing out. Cullen reacted without thought, an impression of a glowing red dagger, and his sword deflected the blow. The black enshrouded figured danced away quickly, returning to bring the red lyrium blade at his arm. At the same time, another robed figure appeared at the top of the ladder. This one held a staff, gathering power to the focus once more.

Cull swung his sword in an arc, causing the small assassin to dodge to the side. Cullen dove for the relative safety of the middle of the room; a spirit spell exploded over the spot he had just been. His shield was over by his desk, and he rolled to his feet, bringing his momentum forward to grab it and swing it around. Just in time; the assassin was bearing down on him, his knife now aimed at the solid metal instead of Cullen’s back. The deflection caused the assassin to pull his blade; he didn’t seem to want it to slam into the barrier. Perhaps the lyrium could be shattered?

Another crackle of magic streamed towards him, and Cullen deflected the magic down, sweeping out with his sword and slashing a line across the assassin’s back as he spun. The acrid scent of magic grew strong, the mage somehow down from the loft. A green light started to glow in the small room, ruffling the lightweight papers on his desk.

Three things happened at once. The assassin, uncaring or unnoticing of his wound, darted behind Cullen, dagger aimed for the gap in his armor high on his ribs. The power the mage was drawing upon condensed around Cullen, surrounding around his body as a sphere. Cullen had no lyrium in his blood to draw upon, but his instincts caused him to throw out a counter spell, attempting to purge the magic. The red tip of the lyrium dagger pierced the cotton of his tunic and just barely touched his skin, and chaos broke loose.

Inside, Cullen’s muscles locked, his head rang with Chantry and war bells and spun as if he were out at sea once more. He felt squeezed, all breath left his body, and a faint and wavering blue wave, the dregs of his Templar abilities, met the green magic. Through the encroaching darkness, he saw the green light overpower his pitiful attempts to knock it away, and he saw it roll over him as he fell.

He had failed her.

***

Paile jerked awake to the sound of clanging metal and “Inquisitor!” echoing up into her bedchamber. Reflexively, she snatched the sword propped next to her bed, and pushed out of the sheets. Already wide awake, the adrenaline surging through her, she reached the top of her stairs just as one of the guards got to her door. “Report,” she barked. It wasn’t going to be good.

“It is Commander Cullen, Inquisitor. Something happened in his office. He is gone,” Captain Henley, one of Cullen’s men, broke out.

For a moment, Paile’s mind whirled. Her feet glued to the floor, she couldn’t seem to understand what she heard. No, he couldn't be gone. They were practicing together in the morning. He must be there.

Her tunnel vision quickly snapped back into focus, and she made her way down the stairs. She was the Inquisitor; she had things she needed to do. She couldn’t falter. The determination in her stride whipped her hair behind her, the moonlight streaming in from the windows making the pale strands glow with otherworldly light. “Details,” she ordered to the Captain following her.

“A patrol found a magical barrier outside the office. It disappeared quickly, and the patrol searched inside, according to protocol. The Commander’s armor was on the floor, but he couldn’t be found in the tower or immediate surrounding area.”

Another sick wave churned through Paile’s stomach. “First of all, wake Leliana.” Paile buckled her sword across her back, over her warm pajamas. Her bare feet were whispers on the stone, but her authority spoke loudly enough. The door to the main hall was open, a small retinue of guards awaited her. She nodded to them once, and they fell in behind her and Captain Henley.

“I dispatched someone to her quarters as I was coming to you.” Paile murmured an acknowledgement. Her men were no fools.

“Secondly, I will need Solas. Bring him to me once he has awoken.” Here she paused and shot a hard glance to the Captain and guards. “Do not shock him out of it. He will awaken when he can.” He would be walking the Fade while safe here in Skyhold, and she didn’t want to risk startling him while he was there. “Leave a guard with him with directions, Captain. And alert all of Skyhold; there could still be a hostile inside.” She resumed her strides, turning to make use of Solas’s mural room and the bridge.

Captain Henley gave a curt salute and departed with a few men. Paile knew that she would soon have a mad scramble of people waking in a panic, but it was unavoidable. The veilfire lantern illuminating the rotunda threw eerie lights and highlighted the eyes painted onto the walls. Unseeing eyes, she reminded herself. Creators, it was creepy in here at night.

At that thought, Vivienne appeared in the doorway, a long fur-lined robe wrapped around her lithe figure. Her ready staff reflected the bluish light, glinting with the power that Vivienne could conjure. “I heard,” she spoke in her immaculate tones, conveying all Paile needed to know. Once she got over the initial start, Paile let out a quick breath. At least one of her people was safe. She nodded in relief, Vivienne falling into step beside her. “Don’t worry, my dear. We will get to the bottom of this.”

“We will,” Paile agreed, steady as stone. Right now, there could be no room for doubt. They would find their Commander, and he would be unharmed. Vivienne offered her a quick smile, always pleased when those around her were as strong as she herself was.

The bite of the night air was harsh, and Paile knew that in a few weeks, it would start to snow in earnest up here in the mountains. But the cold did not register as their small group approached the door. She was too intent.

The door to the Commander’s office stood open, but she did not go through. Motioning for the guards to wait, Paile crouched down just before the door and squinted in the darkness. Vivienne followed suit, examining the faint marks left behind. “It was a spell,” Vivienne drew her finger across the line. “Broken now, and no longer of danger.” She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, standing and stepping into the office. “All sounds would have been dampened, but it was not powerful enough to have kept up a barrier for long.”

Paile took one last glance before following into the room. A quick visual sweep made her feel as if she had been punched in the solar plexus. A collapsed, shrunken, pile of clothes and armor lay on the floor. Her throat knotted, Paile took shaky steps to the horrific remains, and sank down on her haunches. Vivienne spared it a glance, but started to look elsewhere for clues. Paile had this covered.

She reached out a faintly trembling hand, and carefully placed in on the metal chest piece. It was freezing to the touch; air temperature. No body heat had been transferred for some time. Paile gently skimmed a finger over the fur mantle he wore around his shoulders. It was soft, just as she thought it would be.

She had felt it once. It had been warm, hot from his body heat, as he had picked her up from the snow. Her head had nestled on it, and partially against his chest. But she had been so cold, so frozen, that she hadn’t noticed anything other than the heat. And now there was no warmth. Just soft. She drew her hand back. She would have preferred to have known it only as warm.

Mentally shaking herself, Paile sat back on her heels and looked at the position of the clothes. It seemed precisely laid out, not taken off, but rather as if Commander Cullen had just somehow vanished from inside them. She didn’t let herself dwell on that disturbing thought. It seemed that he had been half turned and fallen on his back. His shield lay upside down, partially beneath the clothes. He had spun part way to his left, his sword splayed to the right.

There was blood on the tip, she saw, and sat forward to get a better look.

A creak from the loft made Paile spin, her sword halfway clear before Leliana spoke. “It is as they said. He is not here.” The former bard softly slid down the ladder and landed without a sound. Two of Paile’s people, then, were safe. “There is, however, a grappling hook leading up to the roof. An entrance through that cursed hole, perhaps.” Leliana joined her, and they both turned their attention to the sword.

“Some blood, but not much,” Paile informed. “From the spray pattern, and from what I can see of the front of his clothes, none of it is from the Commander. Looks like he got off at least one good cut. Perhaps two.” The peered around the candle lit room, and Paile nodded to some small drops on the floor. “Whomever he attacked, they will still be bleeding.” Although not too heavy, there was a faint trail that led out the door to their right.

Paile turned toward her spymaster. “Find them.” Her pale purple eyes were hard as gems.

“With pleasure,” Leliana replied. Her features, shadowed under her cowl, were carved in granite. Her eyes were just as stony, wrath lending her darkness. She took ill that someone had snuck into her stronghold. Paile knew that there would be no stopping her, and she absolutely didn’t care. They nodded to each other in mutual understanding, and Leliana stood and swept towards the door.

“Leliana,” Paile called softly. Outside, a bell started clanging furiously. Jumbled noises rose up, people crying out in alarm and sharp voices quickly bringing order to the chaos. Her spymaster stopped, her purple cowl appearing black, eyes glinting. “Half an hour. Then we meet in the War Room.” Leliana bobbed her head once, and then was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Paile waited in the Commander's office for Solas. Outside the cacophony of chaos that had awoken the castle started to die down as those of authority brought order. He had trained his officers well; in five minutes things were already starting to run smoothly. If not calm, there were no longer cries of shock or confusion. Now there was the thrum of command, confident orders to fall into rank. The military procedures continued for the soldiers and guards, but Paile also knew that much was happening on the more silent spectrum. Leliana would not stand for half hearted measures, and this was especially not the time for them. All of her spies, her scouts, were no doubt being brought up to speed and swiftly sent places. Creators knew where. Paile rubbed a hand down her face. And Creators knew that they had more than one enemy from where this attack could have originated from.

Ever so carefully, trying not to disturb too much, Paile picked at the crumpled pile of clothing and armor. She needed to see if there was any blood, if he had been cut. Her hair tumbled down her back, sweeping forward and across the cloth. A grunt of annoyance pushed from the back of her throat, and she brushed her hair back. She had nothing to tie it away with. Settling for twisting it around itself, she resumed her task. There was not much blood on the floor, but perhaps it was all located under the clothes, where his back would have been. Slowly, she shifted plate mail around, lifting layers of cloth or pieces of metal. Nothing was wet or stained red. No sudden clean slashes in his well-maintained gear. Paile backed off, and shook her head.

The guards posted outside the door made an acknowledging "Sir" to an approaching figure. _Solas. Three safe._ Paile stood up, sighing. "Vivienne only spoke of the barrier spell. I am assuming that meant she found no others," she informed him, waved a hand down at the pile of clothing, "But something obviously happened here. The Commander just disappeared, leaving his clothing in place." Solas moved into the room quietly, a look of concentration on his face. In his hands, a spell sparked to life. Paile stepped back away until she bumped into a wall, the sword strapped across her back dug into her skin, which was only protected by her night shirt.

Solas spent little time looking down at the clothing, letting his spell flash over the floor, lighting up the room before it quickly dissipated. He frowned. At that, Paile's stomach tightened. Solas knew everything; he was the wisest of them all. Physically, the Commander had just disappeared, not something that normally just happened. Therefore it had to be magical… right? "What is it? What's wrong?"

"There is an unusual residual magic here. A mix?" Solas sat down, placing himself in the middle of the room. "I have never felt this combination before. I should like to examine it further." Paile knew that meant he would was preparing to dream, head into the fade. She itched at the answer, scrubbing both her hands over her face, then brought them back over her forehead to tangle in her hair, leaving her hands on her head, her eyes shut. She suddenly realized how exhausted she was. She couldn't have had more than four hours of sleep, and she had not been inactive. They had returned from a mission just yesterday… no, two days ago. Yesterday had been full of updates and meetings.

She had been sequestered in the war room with her advisors for three hours, deciding where they needed to go, trying to find a solution to the fact that they still had no way to contact Empress Celene. Though their Inquisition was growing, they were not yet of strategic importance. No reason for the Empress or the Duke to take real interest in. There were things they could do, but all three of her advisors had very different viewpoints on how to get there. Paile had done the best she could. But maybe…

Cullen had been there. Just a few hours ago he had been there, a solid presence. One she knew she could count on above all others. Josephine was a dear, but politics were not something Paile was familiar with. Her clan had not worked in any similar way to a royal court. Much of what Josephine did went over her head, and so Paile just trusted that what she advised was intelligent and would work out. Leliana was the Inquisitions master of spies and secrets; to fully trust her was something Paile knew she should do, but there was always a little part of her that just couldn't. There was always the question in the back of Paile's mind that asked what would happen if Leliana's need for revenge butted up against what the Inquisition needed. Which would she put first? However, she was impeccable with her job, her advice always spot on. There was a fierceness in Leliana, one Paile admired, but also scared her a little.

But Cullen, Cullen was one she could trust implicitly. They thought similarly, she followed the way his mind worked. He was confident, in command. He had lead armies of Templars, trained raw recruits into serious contenders. Paile knew little of commanding an army, but she knew a warriors instincts, could see the skills he presented in a military fashion for appropriate missions. And he was a fighter with a never give up mentality. Of all the people in her circle of friends, he also seemed to be the one most devoted the people of their cause, to the idea of the Inquisition that they had. He owned the loyalty of his men with nary a whisper of dissent, and he was comfortable with the command. He would never give his people a reason to doubt. Paile wished she had his confidence. She struggled with it; he did not.

Dropping her arms and letting her head fall against the wall, Paile spoke to Solas. He had arranged his staff across his folded legs, settling into a pose of meditation. "In about twenty minutes, we meet in the War Room. Bring to me any information you have found." Paile pushed away from the wall and headed towards the Commanders desk. "I will leave a guard to wake you five minutes before time." One more thing to look through.

Solas spoke with his eyes closed, "I should have found some information by then. It will depend on what the fade decides to show me. I will do what I can, Inquisitor." Then he seemed to drift, sinking into his fade dreams. Paile did a quick perusal of the papers on the desk. He had been working on routine patrols, filing information from their reports, laying out schedules. Paile could see nothing of major importance, no sensitive information. The papers, however, where ruffled, more scattered and disorganized from what she had seen previously. Commander Cullen seemed to like his military work orderly and did not tolerate, she glanced at the floor and picked up papers that had fallen there, such mess. Paile carefully arranged them and placed them on the center of his desk. She gave a glance around the room, searching for any other major signs of disturbance. Despite wanting his papers orderly, the Commander gave no regard to the state of his quarters. She knew that just as often as the repairman came in to fix his office, he sent them right back out. There were other areas that need more attention, he would say, battlements fortified or additional soldiers quarters. That, or that the builders were making too much noise, and he couldn't concentrate over the sounds of hammers. As such, there were still planks of wood, piles of rubble, drunkenly skewed furnishings. It was hard to tell if these had been that way previously, or were just recently awry.

Paile knew she was stalling. There was nothing else she could do here; much to do elsewhere. With a backwards glance at the cross legged elf and the lifeless clothes, Paile exited the room. More soldiers had joined the original four, and as she strode along the bridge most fell into line behind her. She needed to change, to make herself into the Inquisitor that the people needed. Losing someone so high in the command would rattle. They needed to see her unfazed, a solid figurehead. _Temporarily lost,_ she edited herself, _he will be found again._

She walked quickly through Skyhold, passing people scurrying back and forth. Men and women in armor and a large number of silent wraiths darting with purpose. Leliana's spies, already spreading out to search. Paile reached her tower, a smaller number of her guards quickly sweeping her palatial quarters and giving the all clear. Gathering her armor, Paile quickly changed, putting on the full set of her plate, re-strapping her sword across her back. The warrior Inquisitor roll re-donned. She didn't have time to gather her waist long hair up into its usual braids, so Paile tied it back into a ponytail, letting the ends float down over one shoulder. The whole process took her little time; she was now quite proficient at it.

She arrived at the War Room slightly before time, but most everyone was in place. Paile mentally counted heads, tallying them into her safe column. _Iron Bull, four. Josephine, five. Cassandra, six. Varric, seven. Blackwall, eight._ Vivienne, already dressed regally and with a glass of something, sat in an elegant chair against the wall. With a small start, she noticed Cole slip in behind her, soundlessly like the spirit he was. _Nine._

"I assume you have all been told some of what has happened?" A murmur of acknowledgement rose, some curses peppering the solemn attitudes. Mostly from Iron Bull and Varric. Paile let her eyes linger carefully on each of her friends faces. Varric and Cassandra looked just as exhausted as she. They three, along with Dorian, had just been out setting up new camps and tracking bandits along the Storm Coast. They hadn't had a full nights rest for over two weeks now, and it showed in the lines on their faces. Most likely hers as well, though she had yet to look in a mirror. Although, Paile looked around once more, none of her friends looked to be in the best shape. Brackets of tension framed most mouths. Except Vivienne, who looked as if she were at a summer salon. Vivienne glanced up and down Paile, and smiled slightly at the outfit. She approved of her decision to change. Paile guessed that the people would just not place as much trust in an Inquisitor dressed in warm pajamas decorated with bunnies. Good decision to change.

"We will get to the bottom of this. We will find our Commander." Everyone around the room growled their agreement. Their home had been violated, their sense of safety compromised. No one was going to let this insult go unanswered. Paile took her first deep breath since awakening. They could do this… they WOULD do this.

***

Cullen pulled himself through the swirling smoke of his dreams. A pounding headache echoed in his ears, pushing at his eyes. A sound escaped his throat, one of hurt and confusion. Around him roaring sounds of metal striking metal and harsh shouts rang through the air. The sharp scent of winter was stronger than at Skyhold, and the earth scent stronger. Was he laying with his face pressed against the dirt? Was there a battle going on around him?

Pushing harder against the haze in his mind, he tried to remember. Something had happened. Something… Paile had returned yesterday, bruised and exhausted but otherwise unharmed. Cullen's thoughts were too muddled to try to call her Inquisitor or Herald in his mind. Too much effort for formalness, and while typically he tried to keep his thought from becoming too intimate, he was just too tired. She had ridden in with a smile. Things had gone well, right?

"Commander," she had greeted him, swinging down from her hart, giving the animal a quick, smoothing hand down his neck as one of the stable hands took the animal away. He had watched that elegant hand, scared and calloused, and he had wanted to feel it slide down his neck and chest, to feel it trail and linger. He had felt the shadow of the burn it would leave, imprinting there. It had brought subtle heat to his cheeks… and other places.

"Inquisitor," He had rushed out. A hand started to raise to his neck before he diverted it to lay both his hands on the pommel of his sword. It was a more confident pose, one less likely to show his sudden nervousness. "Leliana has told us of your victory with the bandits." A small cough cleared the heat from his throat. "Well done. It will definitely help our scouts move around the area more swiftly."

A bright smile had kissed Paile's lips, making the delicate branch-like _vallaslin_ under her eyes crinkle. The late day sunlight brought a shimmer to her moonlight hair, and turned her expressive purple eyes almost clear. The matching _vallaslin_ on her forehead stood stark on her pale skin, all the more beautiful as the tension eased from her face. Maker, she was beautiful. Cullen had tightened his hands on his pommel. A slight laugh had escaped those lips. "How our Nightingale's information gets ahead of us, I will never know." Paile had started towards the stairs, towards the war room. "It must be those noisy birds." Paile had cocked her head to the side, looking thoughtful. "Although it seems like they are only noisy when they are here..." Cullen had fallen into step beside her, and she tossed him a mischievous glance sideways from under her lashes, "She probably trains them to be as vocal as they can be, just to annoy everyone who would dare bother her."

Cullen had laughed, shared in her amusement… but that had been yesterday. Something had happened today. Something…

He had failed her.

At this thought, Cullen dragged his eyes open. Though his vision was blurry, he could make out a massive stone wall to his right, and a large wooden building before him and to his left. He lay on his side, yes, facedown in the dirt. He dragged his head up, blinking, trying to clear the haze. It did little to help, and he felt the pull of oblivion try to drag him back down. His lyrium headache pounded harder, and he felt the pulse in all the veins of his body. Wrong, everything felt wrong.

Behind him, the sounds of war rang on. Before him, no one moved, and there was a gap of about five feet between the wall and building. He was in no condition to fight, and it would be wiser to be partially hidden than laying here in the open. The fighting must be intense indeed if there was no one around to notice him. His sluggish mind recognized that the narrow space was the only cover available to him, and he needed to reach it. The alley seemed miles away, but Cullen focused his eyes on a spot a few feet inside. He only had to get there. That was the goal.

Cullen rocked over to his stomach, pushing his legs back, reaching his arm forward. Wrong, he felt all wrong. Something tickled in his head, tried to call his attention, but it wasn't of importance right now. Survival first. He couldn't die. He had failed her, but he could always make it up to her… if he survived. Just stay alive. The inches disappeared beneath his straining, his vision straining, every other sense falling away to the instinct of survival.

Almost there, just stay alive. Almost there, just stay alive. The mantra repeated in his head, echoing drunkenly. Cullen scrambled forward, making it to the gap, reached forward once more, and darkness descended like a storm.


	4. Chapter 4

The War Room was mostly silent as they waited for the remaining members to join them. Josephine was already scribbling hurriedly across a paper, making notes about goodness knew what. Iron Bull and Blackwall leaned against a wall, Bull was grumbling while Blackwall was silent. Cole had slipped over to the far corner, stood with his arms crossed over his chest and stared out the windows. Paile followed his line of sight, gazing out to the night. It was still quite dark, the stars standing out starkly in the inky blackness. Mornings came early this high in the mountains, however. In about an hour the first touches of light would brighten everything.

The door behind them pushed open, and a yawning Sera shuffled in. She scratched at the unruly mop of blond hair, sticking up sections of it even more than they were. As she shuffled over to stand to the side, Sera diverted her itching down to her butt, scratching at the bright purple and yellow plaid pants covering it. Her muddy green jacket may have been warm, but added to the whole outfit, it was a bit overwhelming. “It’s too early… Piss!” She must have just rolled out of bed at the last second possible. _Ten._

“Andraste’s blushing butt cheeks, Sera! What are you wearing?!” Dorian sauntered into the room, looking in horror at Sera’s sleeping attire. “You and Blackwall are determined to poison the world with your getups.” Dorian pivoted to where Vivienne lounged, giving her pleading eyes. “Vivienne, can we not do something with these backwards Fereldens? Their grimy fashion completely detracts from my sparkle.” Dorian gestured to his body, immaculately dressed and put together. Other than looking a bit tired, he was spotless. He must have spent the past half an hour getting dressed. He had even shaved. _And that makes eleven._

“Shut it,” Sera tosses a rude hand gesture to Dorian, before she went right back to scratching her butt. “No one could hear you if I fill you full of holes.” She muttered something under her breath about horse shit and doors. Paile made a mental note to stay away from Dorian’s usually hang outs for the next couple days. 

“I believe that no could miss your… sparkle, dear,” Vivienne made of moue of disappointment at Dorian, raking her eyes up and down his body, “Even if they would wish to.” 

Dorian threw a hand theatrically up over his over his heart. “Oh, you cut me to the quick!” He paused for a second, considering that. “Actually, no, I find I am quite delighted by the prospect.” He cracked a smile and came further into the room. 

Paile let a small smile touch her lips at their banter. She tossed a quick prayer to the creators, eased beyond belief that none of her other friends were missing. She was barely coping with the fact that Cul… Commander Cullen was missing. She thought she would fracture apart if there had been another. 

Leliana and Solas entered the room together, closing the big door with a solid clang. All eyes pulled together, and bodies gathered closer around the table. Josephine and Leliana took their customary positions, and everyone filled in around them. No one took Commander Cullen’s spot. Paile stared straight ahead, at where he had always stood, feeling the empty space left reflected in her chest. Bless Dorian for easing some of the tension in the room. This was hard enough as it was. “Did you find anything in the Fade Solas?” Paile turned to the man. 

Solas gave a slow nod, and then leaned on his staff. “I can tell you what I found, but I am not sure what it all means. I sensed a slight amount of Templar magic, which must have come from the Commander.” Solas’s eyebrows knotted in concentration. “There was also rift magic.” A heavy silence followed his declaration. 

“So Corypheus then.” Cassandra murmured. 

Solas gave a slight shake of his head. “While Corypheus is most likely, he is not the only one who has weaved spells from this type of magic. The Breach has opened up a new type, an unknown type of magic. It is what allows such things as time-travel,” Paile and Dorian stiffened at the reminder, shooting each other nervous glances. Creators, no. “And other new consequences,” Solas continued. “I have spent much time in the Fade, and so know some of what it may do. But there are others who have newly come to explore its temptations. Others who may or may not work for Corypheus.” 

Paile nodded once. “Do you know what happened to him?” _Creators, Maker, whomever, please don’t let him be dead._

“He is alive.” A huge, collective breath and relieved exclamations arose from the group. Paile braced her hands on the roughhewn table and leaned into her shoulders. She let her head go limp and closed her eyes. But only for a second. She felt the waves of relief rolling through her, and she straightened with renewed vigor. Solas took a heartbeat for the noises to die down before he continued. “I felt his spirit. But I couldn’t find him. He is in pain and confused, but he is still among the living.” 

Solas’s expression shifted to one of contemplation now. “It was odd. I knew the spirit I touched was Commander Cullen’s, but it felt… different. Not possessed,” he rushed to add at the worried looks that followed, “but rather… shifted. I attempted to walk the Fade at the time of his attack, but it did not grant me such control. The Veil is slightly thinner in the office now, and the Fade was reacting negatively to that.” 

“Thank you Solas. This is better news than I expected to hear.” Paile thought for a moment. “Could you attempt again? See if you are able to determine what occurred?” 

“I will try, Lethallan.” Paile then turned to Leliana. “What information have you gathered? And I am assuming you have already sent out scouts to search for our Commander and the culprits.” 

“My spies have reported nothing,” Leliana crossed her arms in frustration. “Besides the grappling hook, there were no other clues. There were no witnesses, no casualties. Whoever did this was good, very good. And walked in on light shoes.” Leliana dropped her arms and leaned forward. “But I am better. Do not worry, Inquisitor. I have already sent countless birds and scouts. There will be no place they can hide.” In her face, a cold deliberateness shown. Paile knew Leliana was thinking of the Conclave, thinking of all the things that she could have done, of all the questions that still had no answer. Leliana would push and push and _push_ until things worked her way. 

They all stayed in the War Room for hours, the sun rose, breakfast brought in and consumed. The first issue they discussed was who to put in charge until the Commander could be found. His second-in-command was fetched, and brought up to speed. Knight-Captain Rylen was debriefed on the issue, and then they discussed the best course of action for telling the men. Everyone knew something had gone down, and logically they wouldn’t be able to hide the Commanders absence from the men. He was too visual; everyone would wonder why he was no longer around. They would spread the word that he was missing, but stress the importance of discretion. 

Next was the talk of where to search. Red Templar sightings and camps were deemed the priority targets, but there were others to consider. Some noble houses in Orlais, Empress Celene, Duke Gaspard, the Venatori. Paile knew that her other more low key spies, Varric, Iron Bull, and Sera, would be making connections of their own. She trusted they would come to her with information, if they should find any. She prayed that someone would know something; right now it felt like there were no answers. The Inquisition was still growing, still fledgling compared to the many other players. Any number of them could have planned this attack; taking out the commander of an army was an incredible effective way to halt momentum. 

The façade to present to the world was next. It was easy to pretend that nothing had happened, and carry on as if Commander Cullen still led things. But it would only be possible for a few days. And if he had not returned at that point, they would need to make official statements to counteract the subversive rumors that were sure to stand up. Once again, Paile left such sentiments to Josephine, and trusted that she and her consultants would come up with something. Probably a plan so cunning, it would seem like the Inquisition had intended for everyone to think the Inquisition was out of balance, just to draw enemies in. 

Lunch had been served and finished for an hour by the time they finally got around to talking about the magical elements of the attack. Paile had little or no input to add, knowing practically nothing about the fade or how magic worked. The mages debated hotly, going so far as to bring Dagna in for her intellectual knowledge. Dagna offered a unique perspective, and they were all interested in her views… but they still argued hotly about what was possible and what was not. 

Paile let the voices wash over her as she sat in one of the large wooden chairs around the table. She rubbed at her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the pain there. There was still so much she needed to do today. She needed to go out, to walk through the keep, to talk with the people. They all needed to see her unaffected, confident that things would be brought to rights. She should probably also speak with Mother Giselle, be seen praying in their small chantry. Most of the time Paile didn’t know what to say in while there. She just let the Sisters say the Chant of Light around her, stared at the carving of Andraste. Creators knew she barely knew what was all involved with the religion, but she was learning. Paile opened her eyes and stared at the mark on her hand. The mark glowed, and Paile folded her fingers gently over it, slowly lowering her hand down to her lap. Herald of Andraste, indeed. How had she gotten into this mess? 

*** 

The next time Cullen came awake, things were much less fuzzy. While he was still confused, he didn’t feel like he was drowning in space anymore. He lay with his eyes closed for several beats, taking category of his body and his surroundings. His head still throbbed, but it was no worse than he had suffered previously during lyrium withdrawals. It was manageable. His stomach ached as well, and he wondered how long it had been since he had eaten. Or was the ache related to something else? Cullen thought of a rich stew, loaded with chunks of meat and hearty vegetables. His stomach tightened and tried to claw its way through his spine. Guess at least a good portion of the pain was from hunger. He quickly catalogued his other aches, but nothing came close to the previous two, were cause for immediate concern. 

Determining that he was fine for the moment, Cullen turned his attention to his surroundings. It was cold, he could feel the nip in the air on his nose and ears, but he was not chilled. The air hung heavily with hay and animals and the smell of sun-warmed earth. The battle that had been occurring had died down, things seeming mellower now. He still heard the sound of metal on stone, the clacking of armor, of orders being given, but now he could hear horse hooves striking the ground and the chatter of people. There was no longer a sense of urgency, and although he could detect no words from the conversations, the cadences were that of work, not anger or fights. 

Fights… Cullen dug back into his memory. He had been in a fight. Searching through the haze, Cullen pulled out flashes of memory, colors swirling and condensing down into shapes. There had been darkness, mostly darkness. Then, a comet of red. Glowing red, dangerous red streaks that he had diverted, bushed aside. A malevolent, formless green beast smiling at him, teeth barred. It had crawled closer, and Cullen had tried to cut its throat, to send it back to the fade, to dispel it. That’s right; the beast had been a spell, not a beast. The evil he had felt from it had been as a physical presence, one that was unknown and at the same time familiar, like something from his nightmares. It had gobbled him up at the same time the red snake had pressed its venom against his skin, the two working together to slaughter him. 

At this, Cullen snapped his eyes open, drawing deep breathes, as he always did when he awoke from his dreams. Nightmares, almost always nightmares. Blinking into the daylight, he did a quick pass of his eyes over what he could see. He was mostly in shadow, having made it partially into the alley he had been aiming for previously. His eyes roamed around what he could see. The tickling in the back of his brain started up again, and Cullen took a closer look around. The stone wall next to him looked familiar; the wooden slates of the building as well. There was an opening to the building further down, and a second floor, where the scent of hay permeated. He knew this. His surroundings were too big, grown too large, but he knew this. This was Skyhold. 

Confusion morphed quickly into fear. Someone had made an attack on Skyhold. That was why he had been fighting; someone had tried to kill him, and then must have led an army inside. Who had control of Skyhold now? Was it his men? Was it the enemy? Was Paile safe? Cullen felt the same sensation he had felt once before, when she had accepted her fate in Haven. She had sacrificed herself to give them all a chance at survival. She had done what few others would dream to think of, and she had done it with no fear, only determination. Later he had promised her, he would never again allow what happened that day to occur again. And he had failed her, broken his promise. Because of it, she may have sacrificed herself once more. 

The fear ate at his stomach, but he couldn’t let that be the end of it. He had to do something. Cullen moved his hands below his chest and shoved up, leveraging himself and bringing his legs beneath him. That’s when noticed his body was all wrong, that he was physically already standing although surely that was impossible. That’s when Cullen finally looked down at himself. And saw nothing he recognized. His hands were shrunken, covered in a thick layer of tawny and white fur. Horror filled his being as he followed his arms to his chest, seeing waves of snow white fur starkly highlighting the bright tawny delineated across his shoulders. Knowing what he was seeing and believing what his eyes told him were two impossible things that could not coexist. He brought one hand up and stared at his fingers that had mutated into pink, smooth pads. Those were definitely not his hands. These were not his limbs. A new dimension of horror dawned on his stuttering mind, and he whipped his head around, staring down his back, now covered in a thick layer of the golden stripped fur. A long, fluffy tail twitched behind him, agitated and puffed up. Last time he had checked, that was definitely not his tail. 

How in the Maker’s light had he been transformed into a cat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha haha ha, such sirius bizness for such a crack, fluffy trope! I hope that you all still think it is a good story, and stick with me, I promise I am not trying to Rickroll anyone! I promise to stick with the same vein of writing... I just find it hilarious that this story started from the idea of Cullen getting turned into a kitty. I got a lot more coming :D It has inspired me in a way nothing has for a long time!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has stuck with this story despite the ridiculousness that I dropped on you all, lol. I hope you continue to think the story worth it!

Cullen stood frozen for a time, he wasn’t sure how long. All he was aware of was the circuitous logic running through his head. He was a cat. Which wasn’t possible. But he could see with his own eyes he was a cat. Which was not possible. But somehow true.

Slowly, other thoughts surfaced. He had seen other impossible things, back in the tower, back when he had been tortured. Blood magic had been responsible, creating images and nightmares from the fade that had seemed so real. A shaking laugh escaped his lips, but a cats’ low meow was what was released into the day. Right, this was the fade; he was in truth back in his office, lying on the floor. The mage had hit him with a spell, and that spell had knocked him out and created this supposed reality. Cullen had experienced something like this before. Logic tried to knock his conclusion awry, but he pushed it back and ignored it. This was the fade.

Cullen nodded his head in determination, and looked around once more. He disliked being so out in the open, and he could use a high up perch to gather intel. He was right next to the barn, and there was the open loft; he could get an excellent view of the courtyard from that vantage point. Cullen took a tentative step forward, feeling how his unfamiliar body would move. Cats moved like horses did, correct? He brought his back leg forward, and then his other front. Tentatively Cullen made awkward steps, feeling like he was drunk. No cat he had ever seen had moved as roughly and tentatively as he did in those first few steps. Quickly, though, Cullen fell into a rhythm. There was a naturalness in moving this way; perhaps something instinctive remembered from crawling in his childhood or perhaps it was just a side effect of being changed into this predators form.

A thrill raced down his spine, and Cullen picked up speed, moving faster and faster until he was running. Up the stairs, skirting his way around the ledge, weaving through obstacles. His sense of balance was heightened, his speed unparalleled. Exhilaration flooded his senses as he came to an abrupt halt on the edge of the loft. His heart was pumping, his lungs bringing in cold air, searing the last of the cobwebs from his brain. Cullen finally felt like his mind was back, and he took a second to enjoy feeling normal again. His inner burst of a smile came out as a scrunch of his new nose, the whiskers twitching forward. _Well,_ he laughed to himself, _somewhat normal._

When he had been dashing through the barn, he had noticed something else about himself. He was large, at least twice the size of any other house cat he had seen. His head and shoulders were above the seat of the chair he had passed, so he probably stood about two feet tall. His tail stretched out behind him for about a foot, and adding that to his body, he was about three feet in length total. Cullen braced himself on his legs and dropped up and down a few times, testing his strength. He couldn’t guess his new weight, but he was not slight by any means. He could feel the sinew and muscle under the long, waving fur. Although still a strange physicality, he was by no means flabby or soft. He still felt like a warrior, only now one that fought on four legs instead of two. A sudden thought made him look to the paws pressed to the floor. He also now fought with different weapons. Cullen felt the claws in his hands, withdrawing and contracting them. Wicked sharp points bit into the softness of the wood, leaving little indents. Those would come in handy. The teeth in his mouth also felt sharp, the incisors long and curved. Any demon he ran across would not find him to be an easy target. 

Cullen dropped his body to the rough wood of the loft, creeping forward to give himself the best view of the courtyard. Skyhold itself looked just like it had in real life the day before. The same vendor booths were set up against the walls, the same puddles of mud in the ground. The wooden scaffolding was still set up around the bridge, the final touches still missing from the stonework. The major differences that he noticed were the people. Not all of the vendors were manning their shops, and there were far fewer civilians about. Mostly there were groups of soldiers, standing in pairs at the very least. Guards were placed on the doors to his office, Cullen could see, and a large contingency around the gate. Rotating groups patrolled as well, everyone armored as if to go to battle, the Inquisition insignia emblazoned on the chest pieces. Relief flooded through him. Even though he knew that this was all an illusion, Skyhold was not under enemy control here. 

A commotion up on the bridge drew his eyes. The slight elven figure of the Inquisitor caught his eyes eyes as she strode forward determinedly. Two guards trailed behind her, acting as bodyguards it looked like. Cullen’s sharper eyesight drank in everything. She looked tired, but her face was set in serene lines, looking calm and capable. Thank the Maker, she was unhurt, safe. She stopped to talk to the guards at his doorway, and at her approach they visibly relaxed, a mix of awe and respect coming across their faces. Cullen knew that look, swore he also wore that look every time he saw her. He felt himself relaxing at the sight of her as well, melting into a puddle of boneless fur. 

Maker, she was beautiful. It was more than her face, although he knew none to compare. The stunning combination of silver white hair and bright purple eyes drew everyone’s attention. They lingered over the fine lines tattooed into her porcelain skin, followed the curve of her pink lips, wanted to skim their fingertips across the ridge of her cheeks. At the very least, that’s what Cullen wanted to do. Every time he saw her, since the very first. But it was more than that. While anyone could have a pretty face, Cullen knew none who kept the attention of everyone she met, not like Paile did. A part of that fact was due to her legend. She had survived the fade, closed the Breach, walked to meet her death to give everyone a chance at life, and then Andraste had yet again brought her back to them safe and sound and victorious. And she wore the mantle of expectation to perfection, grace and command coming to her easily, while she kept kindness and compassion in ready supply. No wonder the people loved her. 

Cullen watched her eagerly, following her gestures, her expressive face. She was dressed for battle, as everyone else was, her massive sword strapped to her back. She spoke briefly to the men, and they nodded readily, relaying some information. His ears were not sharp enough to hear what was said, but she smiled at answer. A hand came up and rubbed at the back of her neck, and her eyes darted around for a split second, before the smile came back to her lips. She spoke again, and then opened the door and strode into his office, disappearing from his gaze. 

Cullen sighed and dropped his head down onto his arms… paws. Well, that was it then. He wasn’t in the fade, wasn’t being tortured by demons and mages. Maker knew that if someone was torturing him, that one small glance of her would not have been the way to do it. They would have shown her dying, or being tortured before him over and over again, while he watched, hopeless to stop it. They would have teased him with idea he had just dreamed of the horrors, had woken from an awful nightmare, only to start the same ritual again. 

Or, even more effective, they would have taken from his dreams. The dreams that woke him gasping for breath; not in fear, but in burning arousal. Where he was left hot and hard and aching, having to take things into his own hands, gasping her name between his teeth. The dreams that made him glad his room was constantly cold, and that made him awkward and stumble whenever he spoke to her, sure she would know what was replaying vividly in his mind. The rare dreams he had where she was laying back in his bed, open to him, moon white hair tangled and spilling around her shoulders with her gorgeous face flushed and tightened in ecstasy. The dreams where she was bent over his work table, where he was making her writhe as he tortured them both, moving slowly, oh so slowly, inside of her. The ones where he muffled her cries of pleasure with a hand pressed over her moaning mouth, her legs wrapped around his waist, back arching off the wall of the War Room, while he spoke heated words against her pointed ear, her hands plunged into his hair. Groaning, Cullen drew a shaking breath. If the demons had offered her before, would he have resisted? Resisted the temptation willing offered to him? He knew he was strong, but some things were just beyond the control of any man to resist. If anything could have made him break, it would have been those dreams. 

Some part of him had known from the beginning this was not the fade, of course. Previously, his visions had never been so realistic, mostly taking what he knew and corrupting it, making a twisted reality. Or everything had been hyper real, too vivid, sensations too saturated to be the truth. In this animal form, Cullen could see more sharply, smell unknown scents, hear things more acutely. But it wasn’t the overloading of senses he remembered, more of an extension of what was typical. There were no demons plaguing him. Somehow, he had truly been morphed into a cat. Now what was he going to do about it? 

His withdrawal symptoms hit him hard, the attack fast and swift, as if it had just been waiting for him to accept that this was now his reality. Cullen shivered, cold despite being covered in the thick fur. He hated the attacks, hated the weakness that plagued him. If he would taking the Maker-forsaken lyrium he would be at his strongest, not cowering when the withdrawals got too bad to function. Not angry or frustrated. But… Cullen felt a small measure of surprise bubble up within him. He physically couldn’t take the lyrium. It was quite literally out of his hands. A small chuff of surprise pushed out of his nose, wonder adding to his light headedness. The want was still so strong inside of him, but the ability to feed his addiction was quite literally out of his hands. Templars and mages carefully guarded their stores; in all of his life Cullen could count on one hand the number of times he had seen other peoples stash. A small measure of relief settled in his bones, taking up place alongside the shaking. 

The shivers worked his way down his spine, raising fur everywhere. He should be warm, but he was cold in the pit of his stomach. Looking around the loft, Cullen attempted to find something. Perhaps a blanket or a… ah ha. Sunlight streamed through a small section of missing wall, illuminating a patch of hay. _Well, cats love sunlight after all,_ Cullen thought to himself with a smirk as he leveraged himself to his feet. Carefully checking to see that no one was around, Cullen made his way to the spot. Down below there were a few people talking to each other. Master Dennet was speaking with a stable hand, giving him instructions on how to care for the Inquisitor’s hart. A slight thunk and rasp of wood made Cullen think that Blackwall was there as well, whittling away at something. A quick glance over the exposed edge of the loft confirmed Blackwall sitting in front of the fire, carving feathers into a wooden wing. 

Being as quiet as he could Cullen made it to the beams of sun, stepping fully into the bright light. Instant waves of warmth pulled his face upward, basking in the simple pleasure. Cullen waited a second, enjoying the loosening of cold in his bones before he opened his eyes and then snuggled himself in the baking hay. There were so many unanswered questions, so many tactics he needed to consider. But he also knew that he rarely thought logically when gripped by his addiction. He needed to keep calm, let the hurricane rip through him. The attacks usually never lasted for very long. The heat and hay and murmur of life had a soporific effect, relaxing his body, easing his shivers. Cullen shut his eyes, and drifted to sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen lay in the bushes of the courtyard, hiding himself from view. Forced into long hours of inactivity while he hid himself, he was antsy, trying to determine the best way to get himself turned back into a human again. The end of his tail twitched in irritation, flicking up and down. Cullen glared at the tell, and forced himself to calm. It was unnerving how these reactions were so instinctive. He didn’t know if his body had been morphed into a new one, or if he had somehow taken over an inhabitant. He hoped that it was the former; it felt wrong to think he had forced the spirit of some animal to be subjugated or pushed out. Cullen knew that some mages could feel the presence of two spirits, an easy way to tell if a being had been possessed by a demon. But Templars were not trained for it, the lyrium in their systems not granting that ability. He had wracked his brain for the past two days, trying to determine if he could somehow ask for help from the mages in residence. He still found it likely that he would not be given the opportunity. He had heard guards and civilians talking about his encounter with the kitchen girl, adding further complications to his situation. While no one truly believed her frantic tale, if he all the sudden appeared, he doubted he would be treated with open arms. So Cullen sat in bushes for hours, watching Skyhold continue without him.

He had snuck his way back up to the loft of the barn, spending hours prowling around the hay, practicing moving in his body. He now had control over his leaps, and while not instinctive as of yet, no longer was completely inept. But he couldn’t stay there forever; he was bound to be noticed. So he had taken up residences in the scattered foliage in the lower courtyard, sitting for hours until night allowed him some leeway. He almost attempted to reach the garden of Skyhold, but he would have had to walk along the ramparts or somehow get through the keep and all of its doors. There was enough greenery down here that he could hide, even if he wasn’t happy doing it. 

He was going to get hungry again as well. The pheasant had been large enough to last him through the previous nights and day, but he had finished it off. The door to the kitchen was still unlocked, no one believing that somehow it had been closed; what cat knew how to open doors? Cullen didn’t want to risk it however. There was a good chance someone was at least partially watching the kitchens now, perhaps trying to catch a glimpse of mythical lions tearing the place apart. So he thought to wait until an opportunity presented itself, or he got desperate enough to attempt another raid. Maybe the tavern next time. 

Cullen watched the men drilling, a critical eye sweeping over the fights. The men were nervous, rumors and whispers running rampant. Many of the talk dealt with his disappearance, wonders of what had happened and who was responsible being speculated on. Knight-Captain Rylen was doing a good job keeping them focused, working to turn their attention towards the task of defense. But it was really the presence of the Herald that truly eased them. They smiled at her approach, snapping to sharper attention and working harder as she helped put them through their drills. Before he had been transformed, they had been working on Templar stratagems, and she continued this program. Cullen watched as she moved gracefully, bringing her two handed sword down mightily onto shields, demonstrating the proper way to block or disarm. 

Paile pulled off her helmet, and Cullen narrowed his eyes, focusing on her face. She looked tired, her delicate face pulled into a frown. Her hair was bound in its familiar braid, but it was disheveled, as if it had not been done with as great of care or steadiness she usually had. She was sweatier than typical too, face flushed with exertion. A heated flush swept through his body; dreams where another type of activity brought that same pink to her cheeks playing through his memory. Cullen tried to push away the thoughts, but they lingered, imagining the expression on her face one of satisfaction instead of fatigue. Paile brought her hand up and rubbed the _vallaslin_ on her forehead, as if trying to soothe away a headache. Was she well? 

Iron Bull sauntered up to her, and Cullen listened as they made plans for a solo match. Paile agreed readily, looking pleased at the thought of the fight. She took her time, however, lingering over her water and gulping air heavily into her lungs. Cullen had watched her fight many times, more than he cared to admit, and he had never seen her take so much time to recover. Maybe it would be different if he was ever out in the field with her, but here in Skyhold she was always eager for the exercise. She and Iron Bull had often sparred, the two of them well matched. Iron Bull had superior weight, and she had superior speed. Their similar styles of fighting always presented an interesting banter; crowds were often drawn at the impressive display they put on. There was always commotion whenever one of them was knocked down, breathes of commiseration as they took stunning blows. Cullen suspected Josephine and Leliana had a hand in making sure people knew about the matches; there was something mightily impressive in watching the delicate elven Herald knock the Qunari down, and wonder whenever she easily recovered from one of his massive hits. Between Haven and her frequent displays of battle prowess, many believed she was invincible.

Paile stepped into the ring, and she and Iron Bull started trading blows, testing each other out. Once they started in earnest though, Cullen rose to a crouch, tensing on his feet. His training caught the sluggishness of her responses, usually so quick. Her blade never rose as high as she typically wielded it, the speed of her downward strokes relying on gravity to give them strength. She was struggling, and Iron Bull didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he pushed harder, notching his speed up, throwing his muscle behind the fight. Unknowingly, a low growl started in Cullen’s throat, rumbling ominously. 

Iron Bull went in for a devilishly complex series of movements, putting her on the offensive. She blocked one then the other. He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine what she felt. She shifted her weight, dodging the next one as her blocks slowed. That’s when Iron Bull went for the kill. The blade struck her ringing on the metal of her shoulder, and she took it hard, falling back. Before Cullen knew what he was doing, he sprinted out from his hiding place. Fast, faster than he had ever moved in his life, Cullen zeroing in on Iron Bull, watching the blade spin around, aiming for the falling woman. Cullen leaped, putting as much power into his legs as possible and hit Iron Bull in the center of his chest. Although he was much smaller than the massive Qunari, his speed and the sheer surprise worked to his advantage and Iron Bull stumbled backwards. Cullen dropped to his feet, leaving bloody furrows on the exposed chest, snarling and making some sort of battle yowling. Cullen ran next to the prone woman, crouching low next to her torso, growling warningly, his fur puffed out and claws at the ready. Some part of him knew that Iron Bull wouldn’t attack her while she was prone, but instinct had pushed all rational thought from his mind. He was going to protect his woman from any threat, no matter what it took.

***

Varric froze on the steps, the impossible scene as if a play before him. Very little could surprise him; he had seen plenty of weird shit in his life. The sudden explosive presence of a feline practically drop-kicking a Qunari wasn’t one of them. The whole of the courtyard went deathly silent; the only noise that of the growls of the cat. Varric waited for the Herald to get up, knowing she wouldn’t stay down at the unknown threat. When she made no movement, however, he knew something was wrong. Varric started down the steps at a run, Dorian quickly following him. 

Varric approached the downed woman and the cat spun slightly, keeping his crouched stance over her, the low growl rising in volume as he got closer. “Easy there kitty,” Varric slowed, raising his hands in a disarming gesture. The cat never relaxed, but the growling got no louder either. Varric waved everyone away, approaching slowly. Those who had started to rush forward backed off, leaving Varric to attempt to calm the beast. He was bigger than any cat Varric had seen before, coming up almost to his shoulders, his long fur tawny brown and striped with grey. The ears were large, claws wicked looking, and the pupils trained on him overshadowing the golden brown color. This was probably the lion the rumors spoke of. And while he was a big cat, Varric knew of the true lions that roamed these mountains. The red lions around here grew to be ten feet long, easily weighing five hundred pounds. This creature was nowhere near that size. He was still lethal looking, however. 

“It’s okay little lion,” Varric continued in a calm voice, “I just need to check on the pretty lady.” Varric stopped within a foot of Paile, watching for signs that the cat would attack the woman next to him. A heart beat passed as they stared at each other. The cat broke the gaze, glancing down at the woman next to his crouched form. He paused in his growling, and picked up a paw. Varric watched as the cat reached forward and carefully placed a paw on the armor of her shoulder, a meow breaking through the aggression. The cat then lay down, body pressed to the armor at her side. Confused by the display, Varric took the movements to mean that the cat was backing down.

Closing the distance, Varric kneeled next to her head and spoke. “Hey Moonbeam, everything alright in there?” When he got no response, Varric reach for her helmet, flicking a glance at the cat. His eyes were narrowed and watching closely, and his still puffy tail twitched back and forth, but he was keeping himself in check. Slowly, Varric pulled the helmet off of Paile’s head, careful of any jarring. Her eyes were closed, and her face was blanched of color. Another small meow broke from the cat, and Varric looked at him, his eyes narrowed in speculation. That meow had almost sounded concerned. 

“Hey Sparkler, maybe you could come check on Moonbeam here. She is out cold.” Dorian came forward cautiously, keeping his eyes on the little lion as he crouched down next to Varric. A spell gathered in his hands, and although the cat tensed up at it, he made no movement, staying pressed to the Inquisitors side. 

“She took a nasty hit,” Dorian murmured. He withdrew his hands from her temples and stood. “No lasting damage, I think, but she should be moved to her room. I can do a more thorough exam there.” Dorian took steps back, and motioned to Iron Bull, who still gripped his battleax, eyes trained on the large cat. Varric knew the man would leap on the offense if the cat so much as made one wrong move. 

“Take it slowly, Tiny.” Varric cautioned. “Lion here seems to be protective of our Inquisitor.” Iron Bull gave a low grunt, and handed his axe to one of the soldiers who had come forward earlier. With as much grace a muscle-bound mountain of Qunari could gather, he came forward slowly. A growl rose up in the cat’s throat once more, and he tensed again. Prickly thing, Varric thought.

“I’m just gonna pick her up,” Iron Bull spoke quietly to the cat. Although he kept moving forward, the cat made no sudden movements, watching with narrowed eyes. Tiny knelt on Moonbeam’s free side; the other completely blocked by the three foot guard, and slipped his arms underneath her. As he started to lift her from the ground, Lion shot to his feet, eyes focus on the ashen face that draped over the arm that supported it. Briskly now that she was out of reach of those wicked claws, Iron Bull started up the steps to the keep, careful not to jostle her. The cat moved to follow. A small contingency of soldiers stepped between the three of them, and instant attack mode was back into that feline frame.

Varric stood and took hasty steps forward, “Easy guys,” he spoke to the soldiers, “I think the lion doesn’t want to harm her.” 

“Rage was there, but now only concern. What if they try to hurt her again? He needs to protect her, guard her from the pain.” Cole spoke from the shadows next to the steps, startling everyone. He watched the cat speculatively. “He wants to help her stop hurting,” Cole turned to Varric. “We should let him help.”

Varric took a second, processing what the spirit had just revealed. Brows furrowed, he nodded to the blockade of soldiers. “You heard the boy. Apparently the big ol’ kitty wants to play bodyguard.” As soon as a gap appeared between the men, the tabby rushed up the stairs, following after Iron Bull. Dorian followed him after, and Varric tailed him, determined to be there to watch the cat and help Paile. 

People stood in the hallway, exclamations of shock at seeing the Herald unconscious only boosted louder by the site of a large cat trotting along in the wake of her passing. Varric disregarded the lot of them; Moonbeam’s safety too important to worry about the rumors right now. Their procession pushed through the door to the chambers, then followed her private walkway up to her room. Varric hurried forward, opening the door, letting the massive Qunari pass. Tiny laid her gently on the bed; Lion planted his butt on the floor next to her head, and watched all of them with suspicious eyes. Dorian came forward and took over, his gestures being watched intently.

Dorian turned Paile’s head, slowly loosening silver white strands from their confining braid, easing the pull on her wound and exposing the right side for closer inspection. He passed a spell over it, and frowned in concentration. A stronger glow highlighted the area, and Dorian narrowed his eyes in concentration. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction and dropped it away. “No harm done. She will have some bruising, on her head and on her shoulder, but it will be gone soon. I helped quicken the healing,” Dorian explained, and started to carefully unbuckle her armor, removing the pieces of plate. “She is on the border of exhaustion, though. I have an herb that I will give her, one that will help her sleep.” The room was chilled, so Varric started a fire in her hearth, stirring the warmth up while Dorian continued his task.

“She should probably be changed; she was training in those clothes,” Dorian spoke, divesting her of her boots. Varric hurried to the door, intent on summoning a maid for the task, and found a woman there already. 

“The Herald!” She gasped, eyes flying open. “Is she alright?” She had a stack of linens in her arms, and almost dropped them in her shock.

Varric calmed her, pulling her into the room. “She will be fine. She is just going to need some rest. We also need a change of clothes for her, would you be willing to assist in this matter?” She immediately agreed, and took charge of the situation, ordering the men from the room as she gathered clothes. When she rounded the bed, however, she abruptly stopped and gave a little shriek at the large animal sitting next to the bed. “The lion!” she gasped. Varric came forward quickly, laying a calming hand on her arm. 

“There, there, good woman, Lion here is just going to keep watch. Aren’t you?” Varric turned and looked at the cat. A quick flick of a glance was all that was deemed necessary in response, before the golden eyes retrained on the unconscious woman in bed. “I will stay here for protection, if you would like.” The older woman gave a hesitant nod, and slowly continued in her tasks, wary of such a large animal so close to her. Varric turned his back, listening to the rustle of cloth. With a start, Varric watched the tawny body of the cat join him, the cat planting his butt on the ground and facing the balcony outside. Varric raised his eyebrows, concentrating on the animal next to him. As if feeling his gaze, the slitted eyes turned up to his, the expression just as assessing as his own. “You are one strange kitty,” Varric murmured down to him. “Is someone up in these mountains training mabari-like cats now?” The eyes returned to looking at the wall, his large ears swiveled around, listening to everything happening behind him and to Varric’s words. Varric reached a hand out hesitantly, attempting to put one on the feline head that sat not that far below his own. Lion whipped his head around, lips peeled back from his fangs, a silent but definite no. Varric pulled his hands back quickly, again resuming the placating gesture. “Alright, alright. I got the message Lion. Imprinted on Moonbeam there, huh? No one else allowed touching. Reading you loud and clear.”

A few minutes passed, and the woman finished. Lion quickly resumed his spot, eyes focused on her face once again. Since Paile lay over her covers, Varric re-summoned Iron Bull from the hallway, and they quickly slipped her beneath the layers of her bed. Paile murmured slightly, blinking her eyes open. “Varric?” she asked, fighting the pull of her eyelids, obviously not fully tracking what was going on.

“Shh, you need rest.” Her brilliant purple eyes were clouded with pain and dulled. She winced, lowering her lashes over them, hiding from the pain. Dorian entered quietly, one hand holding a pouch, the other holding a steaming cup and a spoon. Dorian brought it over to her side, testing the temperature of the acrid smelling tea before slowly ladling a spoonful to Paile’s lips. 

“This will help,” Dorian spoke gently. She parted her lips and swallowed the tea. A disgusted expression wrinkled her nose, and they all gave a soft laugh, pleased she was sensible enough to register the bitterness of the herb. “Yes, it is an unpleasant taste. But it will help you sleep.” Paile finished a few more spoonfuls before she sighed, the pinched look easing from her face as she fell asleep. Dorian put the cup down. “I will watch her. She should sleep for a couple hours, and I will see how she feels then.” They nodded in agreement.

Varric looked once more at the cat, studying the way his attention remained trained on Paile. “I don’t think he will be any issue.” The feline was intent, but there were no signs of aggression, just watchful eyes and a slowly moving tail. “Seems like Lion here has imprinted on her. I have heard of mabari’s doing that; never any cats. Although,” Varric considered, “I have never seen any cats even remotely like this one. Cole considered him harmless, so he isn’t a demon or a spirit.” The all studied Lion together, before Varric sighed and shook his head. “Let me know if anything changes.” He and Iron Bull slipped quietly from the room, leaving Dorian to watch over their sleeping Inquisitor. Varric sighed. He wished that a strange, giant mabari cat was the weirdest thing that happened around Paile; no one would believe the shit that happened here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Dragon Age universe, there are actual Red Lions roaming the Frostback mountains. So it was fun playing with that! The Dragon Age wiki page makes them sound huge, and frighteningly intelligent. Their pelts are prized by the dwarves of Orzammar, so I figured Varric would know about them through his trade connections.


	7. Chapter 7

Paile groaned, her head pounding, radiating from the throb originating on the side of her head. She lifted her right arm to rub at the origin of the pain, but froze as her shoulder let out a scream in protest. She instinctively brought her left hand up to her right shoulder, cupping the bruise there. Her mouth parted in pained gasps, forehead wrinkled tight at the sensations radiating down her arm, head, neck and into her chest.

A gentle hand took her still raised right hand and slowly lowered it back to covers, giving it a light squeeze. “Careful, you took a couple nasty blows.” Dorian’s voice drifted from above her, and Paile slowly blinked her eyes open, gazing up at her friend’s tanned face. 

“What happened?” she whispered, coughing away a strange heaviness in her throat. “Wasn’t I down in the courtyard?” She felt dazed and addled, a strange lassitude keeping her from remembering what had occurred to put her in such a state. 

“You were,” Dorian agreed as he sat on the bed next to her and brought his hands up to cup the sides of her head. “You and Iron Bull were sparing; you took a hit and fell. Knocked yourself unconscious. Quite skillfully and with flair, I must say.” Paile chose to ignore the light amusement coloring Dorian’s voice, focusing on breathing instead. She closed her eyes as the soothing healing spell slipped over the tender wound, taking a deep breath as the tension eased slightly. Dorian slowly passed a hand down to her shoulder, muscles loosening all along her neck and back as he worked his magic. “I gave you some herbal tea to let you sleep. And you will be taking more in a minute.” 

Paile just murmured, unsure if she was agreeing to the order or trying to put up a protest. She felt strangely lethargic, an unnaturalness that itched at her control. But she also felt exhausted, and with the way the past few days had been going, sleep seemed amazing luxury. 

“Mrow?” An inquisitive sound popped Paile’s eyes open, and she turned her head to the side, as quickly as she could in her state. Her eyes widened and she felt her mouth drop open in shock when she took in the sight that greeted her. The largest cat she had ever seen stood at her shoulder, eyes trained on her. He had thick wavy fur a mixture of brown gold and orange, lines of grey streaked all through. His fur was fluffy, and thicker around his neck like a little main. Pure white started on his face, between his eyes, spilling down his nose and onto his chest. He was standing, his head almost on level with hers as she lay in the bed. His golden brown eyes locked with hers, the color so familiar to her she felt a twinge of pain, the wave of numbness that tingled out from her chest and down through her limbs. She immediately pushed the feelings aside, focusing her attention on to the large cat before her, not the man missing. The hypnotic eyes gazing back into hers seemed to be as curious as her own, looking for an answer to a question she doesn’t know. 

Paile felt the breaths leaving her lips as they just stared at each other. A familiar sensation finally tracked in her mind, and she realized that this was that potent gaze she had been feeling. “Watching me, where you?” She asked him quietly. He meowed in response to her voice, took a step closer to her. Paile slowly lifted her left hand again, reaching out for the cat to sniff her fingers. She knew from her days in the forests with her clan that wild animals were skittish and cautious, but also sometimes curious. And she knew this was no tame kitten who would be content to sit in someone’s lap, playing with a ball of string. First of all, he was far too big; legs would grow numb under his weight. But that wasn’t really it. There was an intelligence glowing there, an understanding of the world around him. Paile was reminded of the halla that roamed the wilds, eyes wise and knowing and somehow always looked deeply into your soul.

The cat came forward instantly, surprising her. He rubbed his head up into the palm of her hand, another meow escaping him. Paile pressed her fingers into the soft fur behind his ears, scratching lightly with her nails. A deep rumble of a purr echoed from him, and it seemed to startle the cat. His eyes widened, the pupils narrowing to pinpricks, and he backed away quickly. He seemed almost embarrassed by the display he had just put on, and a smile broke out over her lips, a little chuckle rising unbidden from her. The cat looked back at her sharply at the sound, and he relaxed, his pupils expanding.

“Lion seems to have appointed himself your guardian,” Dorian said from her hip, watching their exchange with one of his customary smirks. “You should have seen it! He burst onto the scene and hit Bull in the chest, preventing that great lout from hitting you again. Then he growled ferociously at anyone stupid enough to come near enough to threaten you.” Paile rubbed her fingers together, encouraging the feline to come closer so she could pet him again. Slowly, he came forward once more, and Paile smoothed a hand from his head down his long back.

“The little Lion here has not left your side since,” Dorian explained, holding out his hand for the now silent cat to smell. He was completely ignored, however, not one glance cast in his direction. Dorian sighed and dropped his hand. “Cats and I have never gotten along. We are too much alike, I suspect.” He gave Paile a wicked grin, “Too handsome for rivals.” Paile laughed up at him, continuing to move her fingers through the silky fur beneath her hand. 

Paile half closed her eyes, rubbing at the head slipping down the back of the animal that stood with his eyes closed. He didn’t purr again, but he arched his body into her petting, turning slightly to move her fingers to new spots. It was strange to her that something so large would be so much like a typical barn cat; she had never heard of it in her life. Speaking softly, Paile turned her eyes back to Dorian and asked “What is he?”

Dorian frowned at the question, a move that pulled his curled mustache to the side. “To be honest, we don’t know. Varric thinks he is some sort of product of some breeding program that was trying to create mabari like cats.” A meow from the cat pulled both of their gazes back, eyes assessing to see if it had been a response to the question, or just the sound of their voices. “Which doesn’t seem too far off,” Dorian continued. “He seems to understand more than many of these backwater Southerners. Cole… ‘vetted him’; I believe the term would be. When you were injured, all this fur ball was concerned about was making sure you were safe.”

“So you are the lion everyone has been talking about,” Paile drew her hand back, weariness creeping over her suddenly. Lion came right up the edge of the bed and sat down, curling his tail around his feet. She blinked heavily, trying to stay awake. “I need to get up,” she started to shift around, careful of her injuries, to leverage herself up. Dorians hand pressed her back, stopping her from moving.

“You are under orders to stay in bed the rest of the day.” Dorian got up and moved to her side table, picking up a cup. A quick glow in his palms as he came back to her side set steam to rising and he swirled a spoon around in the liquid, mixing whatever was in there. “Time for more tea,” he brought the spoon to her lips. A mutinous expression crossed her face, and Dorian narrowed his eyes at her. “Now, now,” Dorian lectured, “Be a good little Herald. We wouldn’t want rumors of your exhaustion to spread to the people now, would we?” She shot one of her eyebrows up at the blackmail inherent in his threat, narrowing her eyes back at him.

“I have too much to do today. Commander Cullen, he… he is still out there. He needs our help.” Paile tried to reason with the Tevinter mage, but he stubbornly just shook his head back and forth.

“There is nothing you can do about it right now. Leliana is looking; soldiers are looking; Maker, even the ‘Red Jennies’ are looking.” Dorian pressed the spoon closer once again. “What you need is to rest, recover. If you hadn’t been knocked unconscious, you would gotten there in a day or two at the rate you were pushing yourself.” His voice gentled, concern and affection shining instead of his typical frivolous attitude. “Let us do something for you, just this once. The world will continue to spin, I assure you,” he teased gently.

Paile licked her lips, uncomfortable with the concern, but she knew when she was beaten. She parted her lips, letting Dorian feed her sips of the unpleasant tea. After five of them, he stood and returned to the table. “Now we know you are out of danger, I will leave you to your rest.” He threw a glance at the cat sitting at her side, standing guard and watching his movements with a serious air. Paile saw the thoughts racing through Dorian’s head as he fussed with the items on the table.

“I will be fine.” Paile reached out once more, and placed her hand on the large head beside her. Though Lion was not looking at her, he didn’t flinch at her touch. “He is my new bodyguard, remember,” Paile smiled lightly at him, trying to put her friend at ease. 

Dorian nodded, and went to the couch, picking up a book that he had placed there. “I will send up some food for you in a bit. Make sure you eat it when you wake up. You will be stiff and a bit sore, so don’t push yourself.” Dorian reached the stairs and did one more visual sweep of her, before he left the room, closing the door gently behind him. 

Paile closed her eyes and sighed. A cold nose bumped her hand, and Lion let out a little chirp. A smile spread across her lips and she turned her head to look at him. “I guess it is just now you and me, huh?” Another meow responded to her voice, and she laughed slightly. He was so close to the bed now, she couldn’t really see him. Paile gently patted the bed where her hand lay, trying to coax him to hop up to her side so she could continue to pet him. “Here little Lion, up here! Kitty, kitty, kitty,” She gently murmured out. He rose to his feet and paced back and forth, almost looking uncertain. She continued to call to him, and he eventually gave a little leap, smoothly springing from the floor and landing on the small strip of bed on the left side. He stood there, shifting his weight back and forth, gaze darting around her and the bed. “There is more room on the other side of me,” Paile spoke soothingly, gesturing to the free space available to her right in the large bed. 

Lion tilted his head, looked around once more, then turned and dropped onto his stomach at her left side. He pressed against her thigh and hip, handsome nose and whiskers scrunched up. He shifted for a bit, tilting away from her body, then into her, then away again, seemingly trying to not lean against her. “Shhh,” Paile brought a hand up to gently massage behind his ears, “It’s okay. It’s okay. You are fine.” The tea was hitting her hard now, and she could feel the pull of sleep. Lion stilled, relaxing against her, and he leaned into her hand once more, shifting his head around for her to scratch under his chin. His deep purr rose up in gentle waves, and he no longer held back the sound. She supposed she should be more nervous of the hulking cat, she thought with a large yawn, but her instincts were telling her that he wouldn’t harm her. That he would watch over her and keep her safe while she slept. She felt a connection to him, one she didn’t examine very hard. Sometimes these things just happened.

Paile watched Lion through her blinking lashes, a smile and a sense of peace easing through her, the first she had felt since Cullen’s disappearance. She was no longer worried about intruders or assassins, trusting the safeguards put in place and her new bodyguard. Paile curled her fingers into Lion’s mane, relaxed by the warmth his body heat, the effects of the tea, and the deep purr vibrating through the large body pressed against her. She fell asleep with a smile.

***

Cullen watched Paile’s peaceful face, ears flicking around to register any sounds. Her light lashes fanned over her cheeks, pink lips parted in easy breath. Her fingers still rested in the fur around his neck, and the simple pleasure he had felt from her gentle fingers brought a low purr unbidden to his chest once again. At the feel of the vibrations, she flexed her fingers against him, and turned her head further to the side, letting out a deep sigh. Her long hair tangled on the pillow beneath her, but Cullen was focused on her forehead. From the ground he hadn’t been able to see her wound, so he took stock of it now. A bruise crept from her hairline, reaching out to the tips of the branches of her _vallaslin_ , and he could see the raised welt from the impact of her helmet. Considering she had just sustained the injury this morning, however, the bruising looked aged a few days, the welt not as large as it could be. Cullen couldn’t see her shoulder through the shirt she wore, but he assumed that the bruise there had progressed as well. Dorian’s magic had sped up the healing process. Good.

He couldn’t believe he was laying on her bed. His boldness surprised him, and though he had dreamed of it, this was definitely nowhere near to what his imagination had conjured. Cullen’s purr eased off, content to watch over her. A particularly strong gust rattled the windows slightly, and he gave a quick look around the room. It was large, larger than any of the bedrooms he had inspected. He had never come up here before, respecting the fact that she would need a place to escape to. He had instructed guards to only allow a few of the maids up here, specially picked for their loyalty, digression… and kindness. He had felt that Paile would appreciate that. Not that she knew, of course. She had so many things to worry about; a safe haven should not be one of them. 

Dalish designs in colored glass decorated her numerous windows, the evening sun chasing colored light across the carpets covering the stone floor. The fireplace was large with a few scant personal touches decorated the mantle. Cullen frowned at the lack of personal belongings she had, a quick sweep revealing the dearth. When she had fallen from the fade, she had had nothing with her. Little had changed since then. A ripple of fur skirted down his back; he was irritated that he had never considered the fact that all of the belongings she brought with her from her clan would have been destroyed in the destruction of the Conclave. He wished he could do something about that. 

Her desk was piled with papers and books, untidy and cluttered. It was so like her, he thought, a smile scrunching his whiskers. She had little patience with paperwork and politics, working through them as hurriedly as he did his methodically. The bookshelves behind the desk were tidy; they must be periodically cleaned and straightened. The maids would know to leave her work desk alone, though, too much important information there. 

Cullen turned back to the elf before him, and he relaxed, puffing a breath out of his nose. He could feel the faint hum of protection spells around the room, the guards at her door. She was safe in here, and he was a light sleeper, any major noise would wake him. He dropped he head down to his paws, not daring enough to pushing his nose against her wrist like he wanted to, but he still breathed in her scent. He closed his eyes, perfumes of green forests, of living plants and of the undefinable uniqueness of her made him breathe deep, relaxing into a puddle. He could feel the curve of her hip, the power of her muscled thigh against his side, bringing him the same sense of warmth he had experienced laying in the sun. The reality of the situation hit him hard. She had a hand tangled in his hair, was asleep at his side, trusting he would keep her safe through the night. He was exactly where he wanted to be.


	8. Chapter 8

The quiet click of the door woke Cullen from his sleep, and he whipped his head up, golden eyes trained on the stairs. A young woman came up quietly, and Cullen recognized her as one of the maids he had picked out carry a tray up the steps. She gave a small sweep of the room, eyes widening in surprise and a little fright at his large presence on the bed. She stopped, and he could see her swallow, trying to decide if he was going to be a danger. They stared at each other for a moment, before she turned her eyes to the sleeping Inquisitor, one hand still nestled in the fur at his neck. She slept peacefully, and that seemed to make up the maids mind. A determined expression replaced the hesitant one, and she cautiously walked forward and set the tray down on the side table. She busied herself lighting candles around the room, stoking the embers of the fire and feeding it more wood to bring the temperature of the room back up.

Cullen watched her as she gave the pair of them another glance, and she left as quietly as she entered. When he heard the door close, he turned his gaze back to the woman asleep in the bed. She gave no indication that she had been disturbed, little puffs of breath leaving her pretty parted lips, looking relaxed and so inviting. Inwardly Cullen gave himself a shake. He really needed to try to not think of these things. It would drive him crazy; want building but not being able to act on it. 

Cullen turned his head instead to the tray, trying to turn his attention to something else. A cloth covered the food beneath it, but he could see the massive amounts piled under it. A smile scrunched his whiskers forward; it looked like they were attempting to feed a party of four, not one small elven woman. The people must be worried indeed, fussing over her in what way they could. Taking an experimental sniff, Cullen could detect the scent of cold meats, a few different kinds. The spicy citrus smell indicated some sort of fruit, and he thought he also smelled cheese of some kind. The unmistakable aroma of fresh warm bread made him breathe deeply in appreciation, but he felt no need to try the taste. The scent of meat tickled his stomach, though, and he realized he was hungry. His worry for Paile had overridden thoughts of his own needs.

He lay there, at her side, for a good amount of time. The hour was hard to tell; although the sun set later up in the mountains, it was just on the cusp of winter, night time arriving sooner. The indication of the meal made him think it was about seven, but he was too far from the main hall to tell if the numbers had swelled for the presence of dinner or empty at the late hour. He shifted slightly, bowing to the temptation to press a little closer to the soft curve of Paile’s hip and closed his eyes once more. He could feel the itch of his addiction under his skin, the low grade headache that he so frequently had. A sigh chuffed out of his nose. He was ready to be over this stage of detox. 

He must have drifted off, waking from his light nap when Paile shifted around. Cullen watched as she yawned, reflexively tightening her fingers in his fur, and slowly opened her eyes. Her hazy amethyst gaze met his, and she gasped, sitting upright quickly, a hand coming up to cover her open mouth, “Cullen!”

He stood just as quickly, heart pounding. She recognized him? It had been so long since he had heard her say just his name, a thrill filled him. Since Haven she had kept the formality of his title in place, a distance he had felt strongly, but mirrored for her sake. A soft meow escaped his own mouth, staring hard into her own startled eyes.

After a second, she dropped her head into her hands, her shining hair slipping forward over her shoulders, obstructing his view of her face. She reached out a hand, tentatively, allowing him to finish the connection if we wished. He eagerly took a step forward, rubbing his head against her calloused hand. “I am sorry little Lion, I didn’t mean to startle you.” she sighed from behind the curtain of her shimmering hair, “Your eyes… the color is just like… they remind me of someone,” she finished lamely. She lifted her head, tucking her hair behind a sweetly pointed ear, and gave him a sheepish little smile.

Disappointment pushed another meow out of his mouth, but she looked so distressed he could do nothing except try to reassure her. He started to purr, the deep rumbles filling the room. The tension eased from her face and she smiled with her genuine warmth, the shadows leaving her eyes and brightening them to their typical vivid shade. He had never seen anyone, elf, man, qunari or dwarf with such a shade. If he didn’t know any better, he would suspect them to magicked somehow, the color too beautiful to be real. Paile gently reached up with her other hand, still moving slowly as not to startle him, and started to scratch with both hands sunk into his fur. 

Cullen closed his eyes at the bliss, moving into the fingers that kept up constant motion from his head, down his back, the fur at his sides, through his mane, stroking down his tail. Unconsciously he moved closer to her, his satisfied rumbles becoming louder. He didn’t know how long this continued, but he lost himself in the soothing pleasure. He took another step closer, and he heard the little breath of her laugh. Lost in her, Cullen moved closer, stepping forward once again. His paw landed on her firm thigh, and his eyes flew open, meeting the amused gaze only inches from his face. Maker’s breath! He was practically in her lap! He lurched backwards, flailing a bit, watching in a haze of slow motion as he slowly slid off the side of the bed. 

Cullen lay in the furry puddle he had landed in, mortification keeping him frozen in place. Paile quickly leaned over, giggling and grinning, looking so young and carefree. The embarrassment left him, and he felt a creeping, all-consuming warmth fill his chest. Andraste preserve him, what this woman did to him. He meowed up at her, and she giggled all the harder, eyes crinkled and sparkling, lips parted wide over white teeth. Things had never been so relaxed between them before. Their chess game had come close, a much needed distraction for the both of them, but their guards had never fully relaxed. He wished he could have made her laugh then. He felt like most of the time all he could do was to share some of the weight on her shoulders. 

Speaking of which, Cullen stood, and walked over to the table the tray of food waited on. He sat down, and turned his head towards her, a meow intending to draw her attention to it. The smile still stretched her lips as she threw the covers aside and stood. Perhaps a bit gingerly, he thought, eyeing her critically. She rolled her shoulders once, rocked her head back and forth, but gave no other indication that she was in pain. She was a fighter and wouldn’t let this injury keep her down, Cullen smiled, the glow of pride swelling in him. 

Paile picked up the tray, an impish smile crossed her features, and she smiled down at him, “I am feeling particularly lazy tonight. What do you say to breakfast in bed?” she quirked an eyebrow in question. Cullen rose quickly, meowing up at her and trotted over to the bed, jumping up on the covers and laying down. _She should be resting,_ he told himself, trying to ignore his selfish motivations. 

Her loud laugh rippled through the room as she carried the tray over, placing it on the right side of the bed and slipping back beneath the covers. She left plenty of room on the left side for him, and he splayed out a bit, a bit relieved he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally falling off the side anymore. Paile lifted the cloth covering the food, and her eyes widened in shock. “They expect me to eat all this?” She murmured. “It’s like they are trying to feed a qunari.” The tray was overflowing with options. A mix of cut fruit sat in one bowl, another had fresh vegetables. A plate containing an assortment of sliced meats and cheeses sat next to one with the bread, still warm from a small warmth rune. Little puff cakes with cream and fruit finished the display. Normally, Cullen was partial to sweets himself, and had he unconsciously consumed many of the little cakes over the months. They were just so small; you never knew how many you were eating. Paile, though, went directly for the fruit, picking out a slice of orange and biting into it with a hum of pleasure. Cullen tensed; he now knew one of the sounds she would make, his fantasies quickly updating to incorporate the reality. He both cursed and rejoiced in this body. He would never be able to act on his desires while transformed into a cat, but he got to see a side of her she rarely showed to anyone.

Paile finished the fruit quickly, not stopping to try any of the other dishes. When those were done, she chose a few vegetables, some bread and cheese, and then picked up a slice of meat. Cullen must have made a sound, then, his stomach empty and the option looking very good. Paile paused, and narrowed her eyes on him. “Do you want some, little Lion?” She tilted her head to the side, hair slipping from behind her shoulder. “Dorian said you didn’t leave my side all day. I bet you haven’t eaten in a while.” She offered the slice to him, an encouraging smile on her face. Cullen leaned forward gingerly, carefully taking the offered morsel with his teeth. He didn’t need to know the taste of her skin, the pleasant agony of what he knew about her enough to make him twitchy, he didn’t need to add to that knowledge. 

They finished some of the mountain of food together, she eating most of the vegetables and some more cheese and meats, offering him pieces until he was full. With a smile, Paile picked up one of the cream cakes and bit into it. A small amount of the cream stayed on her bottom lip and her little pink tongue darted out and smoothed away the dollop, another of those hums leaving her in satisfaction. Cullen’s mind blanked, a huff escaping from his now open mouth, heart pounding. Maker’s breath, she was going to kill him.

Paile glanced at him, a question in her eyes. Some of his intensity must have shown through, but she mistook the focus. “Did you want some?” She gestured, indicating the cake. _Yessss,_ he instantly answered, the stab of desire that skated down his spine rippling his fur in the process. This fade cursed fur covered body. Thankfully it didn’t react the way his human one would, he felt dirty enough already.

Paile laughed at his verbal groan, and she quickly swept a fingertip through the cream on the cake, and brushed it onto his nose. He started, surprised, and she laughed at him again. He relaxed, pleased with how happy she was. He licked the cream off, a little shocked that he still enjoyed the taste. He savored it, and Paile smiled once more, and offered him one of the cakes for himself. Cullen finished all of the sweet fluffy cream, eagerly grabbing the distraction, but left the cake and fruit alone. Paile finished off two more of the little treats, and then leaned back against her pillows, patting at her stomach. “I think we both needed that.”

She started to shift off the bed, and she stretched her arms mightily to the side, arching her back into the extension. Cullen’s eyes dropped to the push of her breasts against the fabric, powerless to look away from her lush form and the sensual way she moved. His sharp ears trained on the catch in her breath and the strong exhale she released. She dropped her arms, broke the spell he seemed to be under, and Cullen shot off the bed, unable to take it. _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,_ Cullen chanted in his head as he paced before the doors to the balcony, tail twitching in agitated jerks, seeking the mountain chill that seeped through the glass. _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

Paile paused for a minute, confusion evident on her face, Cullen helplessly casting her glances as he paced. She picked up the tray and returned it to the table. She yawned once more, rubbing at her eyes. Cullen continued pacing, trying to work off the heat boiling in him. Paile frowned, looking out the window to the darkness, and then walked to her desk, leaning over the edge to look at something. Cullen froze once more. The fabric of her sleeping pants tightened over the curve of her bottom, her legs slightly parted, hinting at the honeyed spot he wanted spend hours worshiping. Vivid flashes of his fantasies punched all the breath from his lungs, ramping him up even further. Wrenching away from the amazing sight, Cullen gave up, and pressed his forehead to the glass of the balcony door, mewling helplessly. Maybe he was possessed by a desire demon after all. This was a torture much stronger than he knew how to handle. 

Paile’s footsteps came up to his side, but he kept his face against the window, refusing to look at her. “Want to go outside, Lion?” her sweet voice asked him, and he growled in response. There was a hesitation above him, then a tentative “Alright… but you must be careful out there. No falling off the ledge. There is nothing to catch you if you do.” The door snicked open and Cullen raced out into the night, grateful at the icy cold breeze that cut through the layers of his fur. Paile stood at the door, and he could feel her eyes on him as he paced. He didn’t dare look at her directly right now. 

She stood at the open door for a moment, before shivering, bringing her arms up to rub along the sleeves of her top. She moved away, leaving a gap big enough for him to return in, and lights slowly started to disappear from the room. She must have been extinguishing the candles. Cullen’s sensitive ears picked up the soft taps of her feet, the rustle of the blankets on her bed as she crawled under them. He ached to join her there, wishing he could slip beneath the covers with her, peel the clothing from her body and warm her up a different way. Cursing his fate, Cullen stayed outside, and paced in the frigid air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cullen, he is just so much fun to tease! :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems whenever I struggle with a chapter, the answer is I just need to make it longer. So here is a long chapter!
> 
> Also, if any of you are interested, I am starting to post my two finished original stories on here as well! Give a look if you are interested in historical romance, water, magic, boats, Greek Gods, that sort of thing :)

Paile was in the fade. She ran through the twisted landscapes, hearing the skittering and laughing of things she couldn’t see. She treked through sludge so thick she expended all her energy just to pick up one foot and bring it forward. She panted, unable to catch a breath. Her lungs burned, but she couldn’t stop. So she pressed on, moving at such a slow pace she knew whatever was chasing her would catch her. She reached the end of the swamp, gratefully climbing out of the pit. And then continued to run, unsure what she was looking for, only knowing she couldn’t stop.

She reached the edge of a cliff top, stopping and wobbling on the ridge. Looking around wildly, she saw the shapes in the shadows creeping ever nearer. She had nowhere else to go. She slipped over the side, slid down the steep embankment, bracing with her legs and hands as best she could. Gaining momentum, there was little she could do, rocks dragging gashes open on her legs and feet, nails ripping off as she turned and scrambled, unable to hold her position and tumbled down the hill.

She landed at the bottom, bleeding horribly, feeling broken bones and the cold pressing in on her. Her vision started winking, and through the wavering looked in horror as giant spiders nimbly followed her path. They closed in around her, and Paile knew it was the end. She could feel the anchor on her hand throbbing, the beat erratic and somehow tied to the flow of this place. She tried to lift her hand, a sob catching in her throat as her shoulder screamed, dislocated from her fall. Desperation had her swinging her other arm up, looking for her sword. It would be too heavy to wield one handed, but she needed something. But it wasn’t on her back, wasn’t anywhere.

Paile slumped, her pain and blood loss draining away at the last of her strength. She slipped to her right side, jaw clenched. She wasn’t going to let them take her alone, not without taking some of them with her. She lifted her anchor hand with the other, and drew from the core of her, screaming aloud as the spell ripped from her. A bright light spilled from her palm, and landed in the space between her and the spiders. As her vision faded, she saw a giant lion land there, the spell different from normal, glowing golden bright and vicious. He roared, lights glinting off of his armor and shield, sword flashing out to hack at the bodies approaching. His tail spun out in a sweep of fabric as he spun, the red and black of his collar and helmet flying with the movement. Golden eyes glowed, fangs bared. Unable to stay conscious, she closed her eyes a final time.

***

Paile jolted away, gasping for breath. Panting, she looked around wildly. A dream, she laughed shakily, just one of her nightmares. She flexed her fingers, and realized that her left hand was tangled in fluffy fur, the mark dormant. She looked down, into the eyes she had seen protecting her. Little Lion looked worried, head cocked to the side, ears perked forward and tail twitching restlessly. Paile relaxed a bit, gently combing through his fur. “I am sorry.” As she calmed, Lion started up a gentle purr and pressed himself more firmly against her thigh. They spent a few moments together, Paile collecting herself. “Looks like you are getting into the habit of protecting me,” she murmured, “Even in my nightmares.” He let out a small meow, seemingly distressed by her words. Paile laughed slightly, ruffling a hand between his ears, “Don’t worry. I am used to nightmares.”

She slid out of bed, trying to remember what she had seen. Lion had saved her from something, right? She couldn’t recall much, but she remembered a roar, fangs and glowing eyes. Of being hurt and broken and being chased. It felt too much like her memories of her real trip through the fade. Everything was so disjointed; colors and impressions but no lines. 

She started braiding her long hair, taking time with it today. She really needed to show everyone she was fine, put together and unshakable. And she was. A quick glance in the mirror showed the bruise on her forehead was almost gone; a little yellowing all that was left. Her shoulder and back felt stiff, but she was not unaccustomed to that pain. The whole day of rest she took yesterday, while hopelessly decadent, had restored her to working order. Physically, she was fine. 

Paile chewed at her bottom lip as she started to pick out clothing to wear under her armor. Until Leliana or Knight-Captain Rylen gave the all clear, she would treat Skyhold, her home, as if it were unsafe. And Commander Cullen… well, his disappearance was proof of that fact. Paile shook her head, distracting herself from the ever present ache in her chest, and glanced about the room. She could just change, she supposed, but she felt a little self-conscious with Lion there. The cat was just too aware of things for her to be blithe about stripping before him. He was not laying on the bed, where he must have rejoined her at some point in the night, but was sitting regally before the fireplace, staring into the flames. The very end of his tail twitched up and down on the ground, but he stayed motionless. She hesitated for a moment, then slipped into the side room, and changed quickly, buckling into her armor. When she came out, he was in the same position he was before, looking as if he hadn’t moved a muscle… other than his tail.

Paile finished her morning routines before giving a glance about the room. Her balcony door was closed. She frowned at it, confused. How… she glanced at Lion, who still sat before the fireplace, intelligence shining from the eyes now staring up at her. Had he closed it? The wind would have pushed it open further, so it wasn’t that. Unless a servant came in at some time in the night and closed it? Paile shook her head, deciding that it didn’t matter at that point. She started for the stairs, snagging her sword where someone had leaned it against the wall, and strapped it across her back. 

Lion appeared at her side, and stayed in pace with her. She watched him in surprise, at the way he just naturally assumed the role as if they had been training for it. She shook her head, marveling at him. He was… unlike any creature she had known. She had heard of mabari’s acting like this, had fought a few, but in her clan there was nothing to come close. Their halla were intelligent, but they were wild animals at heart and had to be trained. Lion just… was already. Paile seriously doubted there was anything underhand in his intent, indeed he seemed set on being her personal bodyguard, but she should make sure.

***

Cullen walked beside Paile, hearing her words echo in his head. _I am used to nightmares._ He had never imagined, never thought… Of course she would be troubled by nightmares. She had actually physically walked in the fade, had stood face to face with a high dragon and a twisted, evil mage transported from history. She and Dorian still paled and refused to go in depth about what they had seen in their teleportation to that Red Lyrium infested future. Not to mention all of the things she had seen in her travels trying to restore peace, the lose of Haven, and her march alone through the snow. How could you see all that and not be left with scars? How could he have been so selfish and never noticed them?

His own nightmares were better than they had been in a long time. He still had them, but they were smaller, little snippets instead of reliving full length memories. Perhaps it was how he never fell into a deep sleep, literally cat napping instead of sleeping the whole night through. Not that he had ever slept a whole night through, not for many years. But sleep was different for him in this form, easier. Cullen frowned at that, confused by this result. If this transformation had happened to him a few years ago, he probably would have gone mad from it. His hatred… the rage and terror he had felt, it had calmed recently, and he was glad for its passing. He had been determined to make the best of his predicament, to move on from that man, and he had been succeeding. _And I am helped along further, apparently, by becoming a cat..._

When the two of them left her room, four guards saluted to Paile. She nodded, not slowing her usual brisk pace, and two fell in behind her. Cullen continued to follow her example, but he noted the men with approval. They were some of his best, loyal men and women who were at the top of their training. Two stayed, keeping watch at her door, and the others followed them through to the main hall. Paile summoned a man, instructing him to bring her advisors and inner circle to the War Room, and they continued on their way there. Although the guards were too well trained to gawk at him, instead focused on their surroundings, the many people loitering around the main hall made no secret of their confusion. 

The people looked happy at the Herald’s presence, brightening and giving her bows or curtseys, words of praise and thanks to the Maker. As soon as they saw him, though, prowling at her side, the smiles slid from their faces. Silent fear sprang to eyes and bodies shuffled backwards. Cullen knew this was instinctive; he was a very large predator in their midst. But Paile gave no indication that she saw, acting as if he had always been there, confident and self assured. He constantly swept his eyes over the masses, keeping a cautious eye on them. Though the guards behind him carried swords, he was the more lethal of her bodyguards, he was sure. No one would touch her. Although, he smiled to himself, the Inquisitor was probably the most lethal being, man or woman, in the whole of Skyhold.

“Paile!” Josephine stood quickly from her desk and rushed over as they passed through her door, “You are alright!” A quick glance at the guards behind her sent her into a little tizzy, “I mean, Inquisitor, I am pleased that you are well.” Josephine’s ambassador personal returned, aware that the guards were present, her Antivan accent crisp and clean, suppressing the warmth. Paile just laughed, and gave her a quick hug. 

“It’s fine Josie,” Paile pulled back with a smile. “I doubt the world will fall apart if you call me by my name.”

Beneath her dark skin, a little pink crept into her cheeks, “It is not proper etiquette…” she trailed off as Paile waved away the protest. Josephine gave Paile a smile, and then turned her attention to Cullen. “So this is the Lion of Skyhold?” Josephine bent down slightly, offering her fingers, a hopeful look on her face. Cullen gave a little shrug, and let her smooth a hand briefly across the top of his head. He liked the woman, would allow her this quick touch. He knew the wounded expression she would wear if he didn’t allow it. But he had his pride, which had already taken a beating from this whole cat experience. He didn’t need to sink further into the role of a pet. “Oh, he is a pretty little kitty, isn’t he?” Josephine cooed, delight spreading with her smile. Cullen rolled his eyes and stalked away. There went another hit to his manly pride. _Why pretty? Why not majestic?_

Cullen sat before the fireplace, enjoying its heat. He didn’t really need it, his fur keeping him warm, but it was nice to be so toasty. He usually didn’t get to enjoy that luxury up here in the mountains, in his drafty office or War Room. His ears swiveled around, listening to Paile and Josephine’s conversations about the visiting dignitaries. The door opened, and Leliana walked through, followed quickly by most members of Paile’s inner circle. Paile dismissed the guards, and greeted her friends, assuring everyone she suffered no ill effects. 

When Vivienne entered the room, Cullen got up and stalked over to her, sat at her feet and meowed. A spell had turned him into this form; surely a mage would be the one to sense it, to change him back. Vivienne looked down at him, her lips pursed. “Paile Darling,” She spoke, not taking her eyes off of him, “would you be so good as to call away your pet?” Cullen sighed, dropping his head. It was just not going to be his day today was it?

Paile came over and placed a hand on his head, “Lady Vivienne is a friend, Lion.” Cullen just looked up at her and meowed. How was he supposed to articulate this? Frustration welled, and he turned back to the elegantly clad woman still standing before him. He raised a paw and softly tapped her knee. All the maddening woman did was shake her head and pull away, walking to the far side of the room. He growled low in his throat. 

“Boss,” Iron Bull’s booming voice echoed through the room. “Glad to see you are up.” Paile straightened and faced him, reaching out and clasping forearms with the massive qunari.

“It will take more than that little tap you gave me to keep me down,” She taunted up at him, a large smile lightening her face up. Cullen felt a little slither of jealousy sneak through him. She and Iron Bull had always had a friendly rivalry, teasing back and forth, at ease with each other. Sometimes Iron Bulls comments were too friendly for Cullen's taste.

"I'll show you a tap!" Cullen growled. 

Iron Bull’s smile faded a bit, genuine concern showing through. “I am sorry; you are a tough thing, I will give you that. Didn't exect to knock you out.”

“No,” Paile shook her head, “I pushed myself too hard, knew I shouldn't have sparred with you. I should have been aware of my limits.” She gave another squeeze before dropping her hand. “Don’t hold back next time, or you are going to be the one cuddling with the dirt.” She smirked up at him. Bull let out one of his massive laughs, and moved past her, clapping her on her right shoulder. Cullen saw the quick grimace slip over her features before she shot a glare at Bull’s back. He had known that her shoulder would still be tender, had done that on purpose. Paile narrowed her eyes, calculation gleaming in them. Cullen knew their next spar would not end so well for the qunari.

When Blackwall slipped into the room, everyone was gathered, and they adjoined to the War Room. “Right,” Paile began, “First things first. Any luck finding Commander Cullen?” she asked of the gathered assembly. Unconsciously, it seemed, she reached a hand down towards where he sat at her side. Cullen stretched up and butted his head on her fingers, and meowed up to her. _I am right here_. Paile let out a little breath. 

Leliana spoke up. “We tracked the intruders. Two men.” She narrowed her eyes, anger in her voice. “They had already been dealt with.” 

Josephine gasped, a hand coming up to her mouth. “And Cullen?” She whispered from behind her hand, her hazel eyes wide with worry. 

Leliana shook her head. “He was not with them. Nor could we see any indications of him every being so, or where he must have gone. He seems to have just vanished.” Cullen growled slightly, and then stood up on his hind legs, bracing his paws against the table and meowed loudly. He could see everyone turn to him, curiosity and suspicion blatantly obvious. Paile just smoothed a hand down his back, gave his head a pat. He turned to her once more, meowing again. “Continue Leliana.” 

Cullen growled at the dismissal, but Leliana took the attention away from him. “The men were discovered to be a mage and the other a rouge. Both had Red Lyrium in their systems.” A murmur at that comment sparked up among the group, and Paile nodded.

“You were right then. Corypheus. Thank you, Leliana.” Paile turned to Solas, “Did you discover anything else?” A hesitant hope was in her voice and face, but disappeared when Solas shook his head.

“No. I walked among the memories, wisps of the past showing me little of details. I can still not find his spirit.” 

“So he could be dead then,” Cassandra said bluntly. A hush settled over the room, heads turning to Solas for answers. Paile crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Solas furrowed his brow, and after a moment shook his head.

“I feel echoes,” he answered slowly, “places in the fade where he stood but moments before. Although I cannot sense him directly, his spirit is impacting others. I do not believe that he died; only that something is making it difficult to trace him.” 

“Corypheus has power in the fade,” Dorian spoke up, “I do believe it could be possible that the bastard has a hand in that as well.” 

Paile took all this in, her face set in a mask. “If his spirit cannot be found in the fade, then we must find him in our other ways.” She turned to look at her other lower key spy masters. “Have any of your people found anything?”

Varric shook his head, “It’s too early, Moonbeam. I just barely got out letters. Once I hear anything, I will let you know.”

Sera scoffed at the dwarf, kicking out a hip, “Again with your letters.” She rolled her eyebrows, and then looked at Paile. “Some weird shit, yeah? Keys being changed then thrown out, some bee’s going missing, wheels of cheese being thrown away. Not your stuff though.” Paile scrunched her face, confused at the report. “Not the same, innit?” Sera clarified. Most everyone also looked confused, and she just threw up her hands, “No! I don’t have nothing. Ain’t got nothing related to Mr. Tight Pants.”

Paile sighed, and turned to Iron Bull, an eyebrow raised. He shook his head, “Sorry Boss, I haven’t heard anything.” 

Paile stood quiet for a time, a frown dipping the corners of her mouth, furrowing the branches of her _vallaslin_. “It has only been a few days,” she spoke slowly. “Let’s continue to look. If we still have no leads in a few more, we will talk about more permanent arrangements.” Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana spoke up again, “We have a situation that needs seeing to.” Paile nodded, indicating that she should continue. “We sent a contingent of soldiers to the Fallow Mire researching reports of rifts in the area. We heard from them several times, indicating that there indeed some open rifts, but also the presence of undead.” There were shifts of agitation at the news, but Paile had heard this part before. “We have not heard from them in five days now. I believe them to be missing.”

Paile shook her head, “We can’t just leave them there.” She heaved a sigh. “We lost enough men at Haven; I won’t let us lose anymore unnecessarily.” She straightened, peering at the map on the table. “I will leave tomorrow.” She flicked her eyes up, around the room. “Solas, Cassandra and Cole, could you please accompany me?” They all readily agreed, and plans were finalized. A few other matters were discussed, those that would affect the group in general. Bull and his chargers were going to do a patrol through the mountains, sweeping the area for weaknesses they had missed. Leliana would conduct a thorough review of their defenses, Vivienne providing magical barriers where there were potential weaknesses. Blackwall would rework the patrols with Knight-Captain Rylen, while Varric and Sera discovered what they could from their contacts. When Paile returned, Skyhold would be as structurally and magically safe as they could possibly make it. 

“There is one last thing we should discuss,” Paile announced. She licked her lips and shot a flash of her purple eyes down to where Cullen waited, paws still braced on the table. “Although I don’t believe him to be a danger, I must check, for everyone's safety. Is Lion… magically altered?” She rushed out, looking at the three mages in the room. “He is incredibly intelligent, and just plain larger than any cat I have ever seen.” Cullen looked up at her, eyes wide, a little shocked. Was she nervous of him? Had he scared her? The thought bothered him greatly, but he didn’t push it. She was offering up the opportunity he had been trying to create. He looked around the room; saw other faces mirroring her concern. 

Vivienne concentrated on him, a speculative look on her face. “My dear, I am afraid I cannot help in this instance. I am not one to deal with spirits or such, I left such pursuits to others.” Cullen puffed out a breath, disappointed. 

Dorian gave an elegant shrug, negligently raising a hand and sent a little spell at him. Cullen growled, feeling the spell ripple over him and dissipate. Dorian nodded, as if in agreement. “He is not dead; his spirit is naturally in his body, not tied there. There are no links from him to anyone else.” Paile nodded, and turned her gaze to Solas.

Solas frowned at him, and Cullen gazed back hard. If anyone were to tell he were not actually a cat, surely the man who was friends with spirits would know. Solas studied him for a time, before speaking. “I am afraid, _lethallan_ , that certain types of animal spirits and I have never gotten along well. I worry that my attempts to speak with him in the fade will alter the both of us negatively.” Paile frowned, confusion obvious. “I would defer to Cole in this matter,” Solas continued. “He is able to speak to the true thoughts of spirits and men, something that I cannot do. I hear only what they wish to tell me.”

Cole spoke up from the corner, and Cullen started, turning his head to face the boy as he spoke, always a little surprised he forgot about the spirit. He dropped his paws from the table and walked over to the crouched form eagerly. Cole would be able to tell, read his mind about this matter. Cole spoke in his gentle voice, “Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.” Cullen stopped, shocked. Embarrassment filled his chest, sure if he could blush, he would be. Surely he didn’t mean, couldn't read these thoughts... would Paile understand? Cole reached out and patted his head twice.

Paile spoke up from behind him. “So he isn’t dangerous?” She was clueless of the true meaning behind the words. Of course she would be, Cullen berated himself. He was just a cat to her, a pet while in this form.

“No,” Cole said slowly, explaining as if she was clueless. “He is dangerous: strategies, muscles, claws and teeth. He just wants for you to be safe, to protect you and home.” Cullen laid down with a sigh, planting his face into his legs as Cole continued to give him happy little pats. That was not it, surely. Couldn't Cole tell that it was him in here?

“Well,” Paile said a smile in her voice, “I believe we have a new member of Skyhold.” Cullen meowed plaintively into his paws. Andraste preserve him, he was never going to be a human again.


	10. Chapter 10

"Your presence disturbs my solitude. Do you have a purpose?” Corypheus stood on the ramparts of the dilapidated keep he currently inhabited. He sneered down at the broken stones, the rotten wood. This was not the palace of a god, but until he discovered more Elvhan devises, he bided his time in these Elvhan ruins. Nothing of power had been discovered here. He had his slaves looking all over Thedas, but he suspected that what he was seeking would be found in the old forests of Arlathan. The lowly Inquisition, however, was becoming more of a thorn in his side than he let on, a rival he would not let stand. Several of his investigations had been slowed or halted in their entirety due to their presence. And that rattus who led them... Corypheus turned to the Templar standing at his side. "Why do you tarry? Speak."

Samson licked his lips, the letter which had just reached him by crow already crumpled in his fist. The news was unexpected, and he was unsure how he should respond. "My lord, I have received a missive from the men sent turn the Commander of the Inquisition," Samson began slowly, "The men were able to reach the Commander with no interference. They engaged him, attempting to trap him to introduce the red lyrium directly to his bloodstream. However," Corypheus turned his massive body, the weight of his presence bearing down on Samson as a seething storm, "There seemed to be a clash of magic. Our mage's magic mixed with a spell the Templar Commander cast, and that mess became focused through the lyrium, changing the effect of all intended events."

"Do not lecture me on magic," Corypheus snapped, "Tell me how the pitiful fools botched the modest assignment they were given."

"My lord, you know much more than I ever will, so perhaps the results will be..." Samson trailed off at the look he was given, quickly moving on. "They say he was transformed, that he became some kind of animal. In that form, he escaped the room. They were not able to capture him, and they left hurriedly but undetected."

Silence hung heavily in the air. While he waited, snow started to fall again, and the roars of the giants kept in cages echoed through the broken keep. Finally, Corypheus spoke, hatred coloring his words. "Shapeshifting. An ancient discipline, one that the Elvhan safeguarded fervently." Samson narrowed his eyes at the answer. He doubted that the ancient elves had possessed red lyrium, but he was not going to contradict Corypheus. He was not an idiot. Corypheus turned away once more, looking out over the snow covered stones. "I grow weary of their interference, their splashing in waters beyond their comprehension. Make them disappear, in whatever way. No more mistakes. "

***

Cullen slowly blinked awake, surfacing from his dreamless state with an ease he rarely woke with. He noticed he was staring at the ceiling of the barn, everything dark with a little light from a fire below him and torches from without. He was lying on his back, curled around and to the side, his turned paws tucked up against his chest. A streak of embarrassment made him quickly flip over, rising to his feet. He had seen cats pose in such a manner, but that he slept in such a pose left him feeling self-conscious. A little noise escaped his mouth, and he knew if he had been normal, he would have been stammering.

No one was around, so Cullen took his time cataloging his body. The shakes had died down, and he was no longer cold. The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun, but he no longer felt the bone cold weariness that came with the onset of an attack. Following the example of all felines before him, Cullen stretched out his front paws, leaning down and arching his back. The pull and tug on his muscles felt distinctly relaxing and he now understood why all cats always performed this ritual when they woke up. He let a large yawn crack his jaw before he sat back down.

He felt rested and relaxed and better than he had felt in a while. Which, he acknowledged with a shrug of his feline shoulders, was very odd. He had just been attacked in his own home, almost killed presumably, and had been transformed into a cat, for Maker’s sake. But he couldn’t ignore that the sleep had been much needed; he couldn’t remember the last time he had had a full nights rest. Amazing what a bit of deep sleep could do to a man. But, now that there was no longer the press of withdrawals, Cullen’s hunger became a sharp priority.

Cullen looked around the courtyard, trying to gauge what time of night it was. The usual patrols were making their rounds, larger in number then they had been previously. He could hear no one below him, although if there was still a fire in the hearth, someone was watching it; perhaps Blackwall or one of the stable hands. Torches flickered on the walls outside, but Cullen could see almost as if it were daylight. His enhanced eyesight picked up someone drawing water from the well, but no one else was about. It was late and chilled enough in the night that people were in bed, or tucked away in the warm tavern. Cullen could hear a jumble of voices from that direction, but it seemed subdued, much less boisterous and happy than usual. He had no doubt some of that was due on his disappearance.

It was late then. Which meant the castle kitchen was most likely clear. Cullen knew that once dinner was completed, the cook and her help prepped for the next day, sometimes working for hours. But whenever he had snuck in for a late night snack after ten, the kitchen was empty. Early in the morning poor lowly kitchen staff woke to start the stoves and fireplaces, but there was time where no one was about. Assuming he was about right in his estimation of time, the kitchen should be clear.

Before moving that way, Cullen waited until the young man drawing water finished, and headed away from the barn, towards the tents set up for the wounded. He needed to be cautious. When the Inquisition had first reached the Hinterlands, stories of the wolves native to the area acting unnaturally aggressive had led to an investigation. A demon had someone possessed them, leading them to act in more cunning ways, with an almost human-like intelligence. If Cullen was not careful, perhaps others would assume the same with him. Adding that to his unusual size and the general tenseness of the current situation, he found it quite easy to think reactions would be to kill first, talk later. It would be best to stay out of sight as much as possible.

Before him and down about four feet were the covered tops of the stalls containing horses and Paile’s hart. It did not seem far, so Cullen decided to reach the ground using that route instead of risking going through the barn. He leaned forward off the edge and jumped down, trying to land softly. Although it felt very odd to lead with his head, the movement was smooth, and he caught himself lightly. The animals below him gave no indication that he had been heard. Cullen padded softly over to the edge closest to the kitchen before jumping down once more. He landed in a crouch, then continued on along the stone wall, keeping out of the light as much as possible. Overhead he heard the tapping of boots as guards reached the broken section of the wall, before they turned back again.

Cullen approached the door to the kitchen, but crawled through the bushes to the side, attempting to slink through them. His size made it difficult, he could not hide as easily in here as a smaller cat could. But if he dropped down onto his belly he could move without making too much noise. The door to the kitchen was closed, the latch set in place, but he knew there was no lock. He listened for a minute or two, attempting to hear any sound of movement inside, but no noises were coming through the wooden door. Stalking forward quietly, Cullen put his paws up on the door, and jimmied the latch. The door swung in quietly, and he entered cautiously.

The sudden scent of food washed over him, and he took a greedy lungful. The sharp smell of spices overlay the scent of roasted meat and fresh vegetables. Cullen’s mouth began to water and his stomach rolled at the scent. Meat. He was in a cats form now and cats were carnivores, after all. Leading with his nose, and wary of any movement, Cullen followed the scent to a table, and stopped. Above him was the mouthwatering scent of cold, but cooked, pheasant. A cloth was wrapped around the large bird, but he knew that scent.

Cullen gauged the distance he would have to jump. The table was higher, so he would have to get a nice push to propel himself up there. Cullen crouched, compressing his body, and then pushed off strongly with his back legs, reaching up with his front. And he shot into the air. Way too fast. Cullen launched up onto the table, scrambling as his feet couldn’t find purchase on the smooth wood. He knocked into bowls filled with ingredients, all carefully laid out for the next day, spilling everywhere. Metal clattered against stone and wood, some falling from the table to circle ringing on the floor. Cullen dug his claws into the wooden table, stopping his momentum.

A loud gasp echoed through the room, and Cullen whipped his head around. An elven kitchen girl stood with one hand on the inner door of the kitchen, gawking at him, eyes wide with fright. For a heartbeat or two, they both stared at each other. The girl then dropped her mouth and let out a deafening screech. In the midst of her screams, Cullen heard “Lion! Lion in the kitchen! Someone help me!” Cullen reached down, grabbed the whole pheasant in his jaws, cloth knocked off in his commotion, and bolted out the door.

***

Paile lay in her bed, stacked under layers of blankets. She should be asleep, exhausted after the stressful day. And she was exhausted; she only wanted to drift off into oblivion, to not think about how everything was unraveling around her. But she couldn't. Every time she started to drift off, something would startle her awake. The rattle of her balcony doors in a gust of wind, the movements of the guards posted at her door, the pop and fizz of the burning logs in her fireplace. Logically, Paile knew that no assassin lurked in her chambers, numerous sweeps having been performed and security heightened. Spells were around every opening, guard posted at her door and access points. But logic had little to do with it; in the night instinct ruled. Skyhold felt violated, her safety stolen from her in one cruel punch. Since they had arrived, she had felt secure; while she and her people were here, they were invincible. The fiction of that ate away at her.

Logically, she also knew that there were no would be assassins in the castle. But today she had felt eyes on her, boring into her skin. The fission of awareness surprised her, had made her rub away the goosebumps on the back of her neck and look around. She had felt many gazing at her throughout the day, but this one had felt different, more potent. Not dangerous necessarily, but strong indeed. It was something she was unused to, and it sent her senses tingling. Paile suspected it was all in her mind, nothing more than one of the soldiers, but that presence still registered in her memory now.

Paile sighed once more, flipping over to her other side, pulling at her tangled sheets and tucking them securely beneath her chin. Studiously, she closed her eyes, counting backwards from one hundred. Someone had once told her that everyone always fell asleep before reaching zero. This was her fifth countdown.

Paile awoke groggily to the sunlight streaming through her windows, colorful and cheery patterns at complete odds with her mental state. At some point, she had fallen asleep, but it had not been restful or for long. Groaning, she pushed her way out of the sheets, and shivered as her sleep warmed body was buffeted by the cool morning air. She quickly gathered her robe about her, and summoned a servant to bring a bath up for her. She would need the additional help of water to wake up.

She started her day with a long meeting in the War Room discussing information that had come in through the night. Leliana suspected her scouts had found the trail of their intruders, and were carefully following them. But no sign had pointed to them having a prisoner. Heart heavy, Paile then went to train with the soldiers. With their typical trainer absent from his normal location, the soldiers were uneasy. Paile joined Knight-Captain Rylen, and she kept up an easy flow of talk, surprising herself with how easily she could fake a laugh and smile. The men never suspected her lies, and they had gone through the drills with determination, no longer fearful. She exercised with the Templars, determined to keep up her training, as she worked on breaking through shield guards.

The afternoon and evening was spent with those who were seeking comfort from their worries. Paile spent a great amount of time in the gardens, talking with mothers worried about their children, wedded civilians concerned with the safety of their spouses. She avoided looking at the gazebo as much as possible, tying to disregard the memory of a chess game played there. She did her best to assure the people that great care was being taken to keep Skyhold safe, and she thought that most of them seemed eased by what she said. To her, most of what she said felt like platitudes, but in their eyes she was the Herald of Andraste. If she said things would be alright, the Maker would keep that promise.

Her first true laugh surprised her that evening. She had just been walking through the great hall, when Dorian came storming out from the base of his customary tower. He was swearing up a storm, creating new and colorful ways to defile the name of the Maker and Andraste. Paile was concerned, so she had quickly caught up with him, and grabbed his arm. Dorian wheeled around, and Paile, on the verge of asking what the matter was, stopped in shock. Dorian’s handsome mustache was liberally coated in a gooey brown mess that stunk to high heaven. Paile’s eyes flew wide in surprise, and her mouth dropped open in shocked smile. A gurgle of laughter bubbled from her chest, threatening to escape.

“Not one word from you,” Dorian heatedly glared at her reaction, a finger pointed in warning, daring her to let loose the laughter that she so desperately was trying to hold onto. Paile clapped her hands over her grin, unsuccessfully fighting down the peals of laughter escaping her mouth. Dorian glared at her, before stalking off out the door. Once he was slightly away from her, Paile dropped her hands from her mouth to her knees, and doubled over laughing, tears popping into her eyes. Undeniably horse shit. Sera had better make herself scarce; Dorian was not going to take this prank lying down.

That bubble of good humor stayed with her the rest of the evening, and she enjoyed the simple pleasure of rehearing Dorian’s undignified fall from grace from Varric’s lavishly over exaggerated retelling to those who had missed it. For a time, she put aside her concern, her burdens, and just enjoyed the way Dorian’s tale grew from just his mustache being coated being soaked in the odiferous concoction Sera had made. The tale leapt to having it cover every bit of hair on his head, to every hair on his body, including down there , Varric whispered with a wicked wiggle of his brows. Paile also laughed when Blackwall related the story of how Skyhold was now infested with lions, and one had almost eaten one of the kitchen girls. The cook had berated the girl for telling tales and leaving the outside door open enough one of the barn cats could sneak into the kitchen and make a mess of the place. But the tale had grown, so now there were lions around every corner, peering at you from every bush. Paile relaxed in the warmth of good friendship and laughter.

But that night followed the same pattern as the previous sleepless one, and Paile got up feeling like the world was just pulling on her shoulders. She was tense and unfocused. At their morning meeting she felt Cullen’s absence strongly, and she snapped at Leliana’s lack of definitive answers. Paile sighed, “I am sorry. This whole situation has made me feel very…” Paile struggled for words.

“You are allowed to be angry,” Leliana spoke gently. “We are all on edge, wanting this situation to be resolved. I do think that this plot is one of Corypheus’s making, however. Narrowing it down to him will let me focus my spies in the right direction.”

Paile smiled slightly in apology, encouraged by her words. She rolled her shoulders beneath her armor, trying to work the kinks from her muscles, “Maybe we could postpone the rest of this meeting till later? I could really use a good fight right about now.” Josephine wrinkled her nose, utterly confused by the sentiment. Leliana laughed, and the three of them made plans to talk over lunch.

Paile gain joined morning drills again, today working with recruits who were still learning how to deal with opponents who fought with two handed swords. “The goal is to try to block or dodge the attacks,” Paile explained, “One full hit could easily knock you to the ground.” She didn’t need to mention that being prone in battle was close to a death sentence, these warriors knew that. They ran through ways to dodge for half an hour before Iron Bull sauntered up.

“Hey Boss.” Paile motioned the men to continue their drills, secretly was glad for the reprieve. She was more tired than she let on, taking deep breathes to calm her heart rate.

“Hey Bull, did you need something?”

“I need to hit something. And you look like you could really let loose too.” Bull motioned to the sparing ring, “Wanna give it a go?”

Paile grabbed a water skein, chugging until she felt no longer felt so whipped. “Sounds great. Be there in a second.” As she took a second to collect herself, Paile felt that gaze again, he skin prickling in awareness. Leisurely, she looked around, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. While there were plenty of eyes on her, none shone with the intensity she was feeling. Paile rolled her head on her neck, shaking off her paranoia. It was nothing; she just didn’t get enough sleep last night. That was all.

Paile joined Bull in the ring, and they started slowly, testing each other out, waiting till Bull warmed up. Then the flurry began, swords crashing against each other. Paile’s armor rang from blows that she shook off, and Bull just took the cuts that appeared on his body. A small crowd started to form, watching as they beat on each other. Sera surveyed from the roof of the tavern, raining down cheers and jeers at their hits. Varric and Dorian traded bets on the steps to the keep, constantly handing coins back and forth between each other. Cole also watched, quiet in the shadows, eyes flicking back and forth.

Paile was growing more tired by the minute, but determined not to show it. She was strong, could knock down Red Templars any day. Except apparently not today. She was feeling her nights of missed sleep and tension. Iron Bull had been pressing his advantage hard, his superior weight jarring through her arms as she attempted to block. Bull arched his massive ax back, and Paile knew she couldn’t bloke such a strong blow. She dodged to the side, and immediately realized she had been tricked as Bull started up into his spins. She jerked back out of the way of the first one, but she could only turn away from the second. The force of the blow knocked her down, and she fell, twisting her body to protect herself from the third spin she knew was coming. Paile fell on her side, hard, the air bursting from her lungs. She couldn’t keep her head from slamming to the ground, her helmet ringing with the force, and inky blackness engulfed her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so much everyone! I am so happy that you have all stuck with me, despite the craziness that I have dished out to you all! An especially big thanks to those that have left me Kudos and comments! You guys are the reason that I am so excited to get this story out, and why I am writing it so quickly! Lots of Cullen Kitty snuggles to you all!

Paile studied the war table, discussing options with Leliana and Josephine. They were vocal and articulate about their opinions and what they would be able to do, as usual, but there was a looming heaviness in the air. They shied away from speaking about Commander Cullen’s absence as much as possible, and if he was brought up, it was in the general terms of someone who was just away for the day. “Cullen will probably disagree,” Josephine stated on several briefings, as if he would just walk through the door and prove her words to be true. Paile fidgeted, breathing through the bands tightening over her chest. It was impossible to ignore his absence in this room, to ignore the fact that she was straining to hear his beautiful voice. She felt a little blow to her… sternum… whenever she looked up, expecting to see his crooked smile, that rakish scar quirked at her in amusement. Or see him frowning at the map, the Commander in place, strategies and scenarios being presented precisely. She found herself taking many deep breathes, trying to ease the pressure. 

The only thing that helped was tangling her fingers through Lion’s mane as he stood with his feet once against braced on the table. He felt solid and real, something she could anchor herself to that was a tangible reminder that not everything was falling down around her. He watched the map with an avid eye, ears twitching to hear all the conversation. He would meow at the words sometimes, as if to agree or protest. Leliana shot him amused glances, and Josephine just always looked like she wanted to put a bow and bell around his neck. Paile smiled at the thought, easily imagining the disgust and absolute refusal Lion would put up if Josephine ever tried. 

It was easy to decide where to send her scouts and diplomatic forces, certain situations requiring a more subtle touch than a contingent of soldiers marching into an area. When it came to planning where to send the Inquisition armies, though, that is where they argued and debated. The downsides and benefits seemed off without Cullen’s knowledge, but there was nothing to be done. Paile decided to send men to dig Haven out of the debris. The Inquisition started there, owed the place in a way that they could not repay. Paile clenched her fingers in Lion’s fur, biting down on her lip. She owed it to the men and woman who gave their lives defending the place so that others could retreat safely. For a moment she was sucked back into that night, remembering the horror of fighting against men corrupted and taken over by the red lyrium, her certainty that she would die in the teeth of a vile dragon, or her throat crushed by the clawed hand of Corypheus. Lion nudged her, pulling her from her memories, meowing worriedly. She smiled down to his golden eyes, unclenching her fingers and tickled under his chin. 

When they were finished distributing the different forces, Paile retreated to Josephine’s office, where Cassandra, Solas and Cole waited for her. They finalized their plans to travel to the Fallow Mire, sitting before the fire and eating a hearty breakfast. Paile noticed in amusement the amount of food spread before them; she was still being pampered. She slipped Lion little chunks of meat, a bowl set aside specifically for him. Paile wondered if someone had arranged that, Leliana maybe, or if the kitchen staff had decided to feed Lion themselves. She would have to find out, thank whoever was responsible.

The group broke apart, her companions leaving to prep for their journey, but Paile settled deeper into her chair before the fire. She had not really done this type of rescue mission before, so she spent a good hour reading through all the communications that they had received and sent to the missing group, trying to be as knowledgeable of the situation as possible. Besides the treachery that was the bog itself, the presence of the rifts presented demons that could have ambushed the men. The undead were no small threat either. Then there were also reports of unusually aggressive Avvar in vicinity. Paile swallowed the lump in her throat. It was most likely that they would find their Inquisition soldiers dead, from any number of threats. But she wasn’t going to give them up without a fight. Not after Haven. 

Paile finished the last report, and stretched her arms high in the air, groaning at the stiff muscles in her back. Lion turned to watch her from his position in front of the fireplace, and his pupils dilated probably in surprise, tail twitching. “Sorry Lion,” she said as she dropped her arms and stood up, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Her armor pieces clinked together as she twisted, trying to warm up her muscles. She didn’t appreciate having to sit in the metal for long periods of time. “What do you say to some drills, hmm? I sure could use the warm up.” She asked down at the large cat. He stood immediately and meowed up at her. 

Taking that as a yes, she returned the reports to Josephine and headed to the practice yard. Her bodyguards fell into rank behind her, Lion stalking at her side. She would be glad when she returned and these extreme measures were no longer needed. Maybe with the constant reminder gone, she could start feeling safe in Skyhold again. 

The training men were already far past warm up drills, so Paile started alone against one of the training dummies. She began slowly, testing the limits of her shoulder, always a little surprised that she was feeling better so quickly. When she had been a solitary hunter back in her clan she had never had this type of medical support. A bruise and stiff muscles were not something you bothered your Keeper or First with. Paile picked up speed, feeling the loosening of her tension, the familiar burn of hard work. She focused on precision today, making sure she did not fall into sloppy habits and favoring her arm. The air was chilly, but the constant breeze barely made it down to this part of the courtyard, and she worked up a sweat as she practiced. Every now and then, Lion would meow at her loudly, and she would shoot a reassuring smile at where he paced back and forth. He was worried about her; making sure she was not pushing herself too hard. 

Sometime later she stopped, panting and wiping the sweat from her brow. Immediately Lion trotted up to her, meowing in little sentences. She smiled widely down at him and crouched to meet him. “Good boy,” she murmured, pleased that he had been smart enough to stay away from her feet and the swings of her sword while she trained. “I was good,” she promised the cat as she scratched down his back, “I didn’t over do it.” Lion started to purr at her ministrations. They stayed like that for a moment, before Paile looked up and noticed the attention they were drawing. People were gawking at Lion, shocked at the affectionate way he was rubbing against her. With a little tug on his ears, Paile stood, smiling in amusement. They had only ever seen him in protection mode, she supposed, they were surprised that he was a normalish cat underneath the danger. 

Grabbing a rag, Paile dried herself as she settled in to give her equipment a fine tune and clean. She carefully sharpened her sword, preparing for the action it was sure to see in the upcoming days. Then she cleaned it thoroughly, removing her armor and repeating the process with the metal and leather that protected her. Her two body guards stood back a ways, while her third napped at her feet, basking in the sun. Lion seemed to be drowsing, but his head came up and focused on the young mage that tentatively approached her. 

“My lady Inquisitor,” he stumbled out, nervous at the protective giant at her feet and in awe of her own presence. “May I help heal your wounds?” He burst out, hands clenched hard around his staff. 

Paile set aside her half cleaned chest piece, smiling in encouragement at the lad. “Please, by all means! I could use another little boost,” she said with an exaggerated grimace and a roll of her shoulders. Lion gave her a startled little glance, and she raised an eyebrow at him. She was not really in any pain, her shoulder a little tender and a slight headache from wearing her helmet during her drills. However, she wanted to encourage the young mage, to put him at ease. If he did not have confidence here at Skyhold, he may freeze up when tested in battle. Lion seemed to understand what she was trying to convey through her look, and he settled back down, lowering his head back onto his arms. 

The young mage very carefully gathered his spell and sent it flowing over the bump to her head, slowly tracing a path down to her shoulder. Her slight headache disappeared from the healing, and her shoulder stopped the last of its throbbing. When he was done, all that was left was the familiar tired sensation of practice sore muscles. Paile smiled up to the young man standing there, looking anxious. “Thank you very much. I don’t hurt at all! You are well on your way to becoming a strong healer.”

He beamed at the compliment. “The bruise on your forehead is gone!” he blurted out loudly, and then went bright red. Paile brought a hand up to where it had been and thanked him one more time. The poor lad practically ran away from her, looking equal parts embarrassed and proud. Chuckling to herself, Paile shared a look with Lion, both amused by the process. Paile shook her head, and then picked up her armor and continued to clean.

***

Cullen took his customary place at her side when she stood, walking down to the stables. Once there she spoke with Master Dennet about arrangements for tomorrow and she grabbed up her travel packs. She then went over to her Hart, crooning gently at the large animal in Elvish. The foreign tongue tripped quietly from her parted lips, the Hart responding happily to the attention. Cullen waited outside the stall, watching as Paile gently smoothed her hands on the creature’s neck, down his legs. Cullen knew that she was testing the Hart’s legs, making sure he was sound for the coming trip, but heat shimmered in his chest as he watched her delicate hands. She readily put those hands on him now; how he wished he could be human again and reciprocate the affection she conveyed so easily. Whenever he felt her tense, he wished he could take her hand in his own, give her comfort. 

Cullen stood and paced, the only way he could work off his agitation. Surely he wasn’t stuck like this permanently? Spells didn’t last forever, they wore off over time. He would just need to wait it out. Maker’s breath, he hoped it was not a decade long spell. It had been cast in a hurry; perhaps that meant it would last for a shorter amount of time? 

Paile finished her ministrations with her Hart, patting its neck. She slipped from the stall and swung her packs up to her shoulder, heading back to the keep. Cullen followed, aware of the guards also keeping pace with her. When they were back, the only body guard she would need would be him. They marched up the steps to the main hall, Paile only stopping to make a request of one of the serving women. They passed quickly into her room, leaving the guards at the door, and she sighed mightily. “I suppose I need to do some paperwork,” she frowned at the stacks on her desk. Cullen meowed up at her, amused at her disgruntled expression. She dropped the packs on her bed, and stripped off her armor. Cullen felt heat rise within him once more as she shed the metal and leather. He turned away, uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if she was getting naked, but it was close enough he felt the need to turn away.

Paile sat at her desk with a sigh, and after a moment of wrestling with himself, Cullen went over and laid down in a sprawl next to her. He could feel a withdrawal headache creeping up from the back of his skull, and he was content to close his eyes and dozed to the sound of a quill scratching along parchment. A maid entered later, a tray of food brought up to Paile, and she left again quickly. Paile fed him chunks of meat that he still carefully took from her fingers. Cullen supposed he should feel worse about his predicament, but at that moment he couldn’t worry too much. He was not being looked at to command anyone, his sole job was to be bodyguard and support to a beautiful elven woman, who fed him by hand and let him sleep whenever he wanted to. Cullen drifted off once more, content with where he was. 

They woke the next morning just as the sky was starting to grey from the rising sun. Cullen found himself stretched on his side; his head and back flush to the curve of Paile’s waist and hip. Her left hand was once again tangled in his fur, and he felt an immense sense of satisfaction from her habit. She rose sleepily and dressed once again in the side room. Cullen turned his attention to the fire to give her privacy. He wondered if she always changed there, or if his presence had altered her habits. She returned, sweeping her shimmering moonlight hair behind a shoulder as she walked to her desk. The tips swayed in a slight curl at her waist, and Cullen admired the strength he saw outlined behind the shirt, the curve of her waist. Paile snagged a brush, humming absently as she worked the sleep tangles from her hair and plaited them in her complicated war braid. 

She turned slightly, and looked at him. “I wonder if I should attempt to brush you,” she tapped the implement against her lips. Cullen scrunched his nose at the thought, and Paile’s impish grin made an appearance. “I thought that might be your reply!” She laughed and strapped on her armor, grabbed her packed travel bags and they set off for the stables. It was so early the only people up were patrols and a few of the staff setting up fires. Cassandra met them at the stables, already mounted and set to go. Cole silently stood next to his horse, both of them transfixed on each other. Cullen wondered if Cole was speaking to the animal, or if the animal was confused at the spirit in front of him. 

Solas entered after Paile had brought her Hart from the stables and was brushing him down. Solas detoured where Master Dennet was saddling his horse, giving Cullen a wide berth. Cullen watched the elf with narrowed eyes. Why was the mage so nervous of him, so determined to not have anything to do with him? 

Greetings were sleepily exchanged, no need to discuss what the plan was. They had already hashed out details, and they were experienced enough in their jobs they were ready quickly. Just as the sun peaked over the mountains, they started out of the stables and headed towards the gate, Paile bringing up the rear of the group. Cullen fell in before Paile, to his customary position at the left. He stalked forward easily, conserving the energy he knew he would need to keep up to the larger animals. The Hart watched him warily, but Cullen paid him little mind. The animal was a steady one, would not react harshly to his presence. 

They had just passed through the inner gate, when Paile came to a halt. “Whoa, everyone. Please stop for a second,” she called to her companions in front of her. Cassandra let out a noise of disgust, but they all stopped their horses. Cullen stopped as well, looking up to her as she slid gracefully from the Harts back. She came up to him and knelt, dropping down to be face to face with him. 

“Lion, you need to stay here,” she said quietly to him, cupping her hands around his face as if to make sure he was watching her. Cullen pulled back with a start. _Stay here?_ No, he was going with her. He growled in protest, shaking his head. Paile kept a firm grip on him, keeping calm. She spoke again, soothingly, “We will be riding hard and fast. None of us can carry you if you fall behind. There will be fighting and rifts, and I can’t be worried about how you are handling yourself.” Cullen paused in his protests, listening to her, still tense. “As much as I would want to bring you, you are just too untested.” 

Cullen took a deep breath, letting her words sink in. She was right, he knew, even though he hated it. He was allowing his emotions to overshadow his logic. Physically, he could run faster and longer than he ever could before, but he didn’t know what his limits were. And In fights, surprise only got you so far. In an extended attack, strategies and skill were what won, not surprise starts. He had stopped Iron Bull, but Iron Bull didn’t actually want to harm Paile. Cullen didn’t know how to fight in this form, instinct no replacement for training. Plus there was the location to consider too. Fallow Mire was mostly swampland, filled with water. Would he be able to travel through the area without being a burden? He and Paile stayed staring into each other’s eyes until Cullen let out a sigh. He hated this, hated feeling as if he had nothing to offer her now. He could only be her bodyguard, to protect her from anything. Now he was nothing.

He sat, acquiescing to her command. Paile let out a relieved sigh, her eyes lightening to a pure amethyst. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in the fur of his neck. “Thank you, Lion.” She whispered. Cullen leaned into her embrace, closer to her body, soaking up the affection. He longed to wrap his own arms around her slender form. She felt so small, despite her strength, too small to have done everything she had, to do what she was capable of. Cullen butted his head against her neck, rubbing his face there. “You won’t… won’t disappear on me too, will you? You will be here when I get back, right?” She asked in a wavering voice, hiding from him. 

Cullen felt the punch to his gut, and immediately meowed out to her. _Maker, no, I will never leave. Never._ Paile let out a shaky sigh and pulled back, a small embarrassed smile doing nothing to relieve the concern still lingering in her eyes. He cursed this form, desperately wanted to kiss her, to drive away the worry and fear. Wanted to hold her tight and let her be a person with him, not a perfect symbol or figurehead, but a woman, with emotions and feelings. To let her be herself. Cullen impulsively reached up and gently licked along one of the _vallaslin_ below her darkened eyes. She started in surprise, and then smiled heartbreakingly at him, a smile he had never seen her wear before, one he couldn’t decipher. She softly brought her lips down on his forehead, leaving a small, sweet kiss behind. She stood briskly then, pink flushing across her high cheekbones, and vaulted gracefully onto her Hart’s bare back. Cullen sat frozen as she passed him, her Inquisitor mask in place but cheeks still flushed, and watched as they vanished from his sight.


	12. Chapter 12

Paile tossed and turned in her blankets. She was tired and sore, but she couldn’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep. They had ridden hard the past two days to reach the Fallow Mire, and had reached Scout Harding’s forward camp at night. She had brought the welcome news that their men were still alive… but that bringing the Herald here had been the reason for their capture. Guilt ate at Paile, making her restless. She didn’t know if she was the Herald of Andraste, she was an elf after all, and she found it hard to believe that some divine power had chosen her. She had known practically nothing of the Chantry before going to the conclave, and she still felt lost in its traditions. But her ignorance didn’t stop others from believing it was true of her. She was now famous, and that fame had caused loyal men and woman to be captured just to get to her. 

Paile sighed, and rolled to her back, staring at the peaked canopy of the tent. It was raining, apparently all it did here. Rain and produce undead. She was no longer damp, having changed into clothes and slipped into blankets that were protected from the rain during their travels. But that luxury would dwindle as the days wore on. There was no real way to dry everything out, so she had better get used to the damp. She was cold. She could feel it leeching down her arms and legs, radiating from the pit in her chest. Most of the time she could ignore it; she focused on her duties and on talking with her companions. Nights, though, she had nothing to stop the replay of toxic thoughts running through her mind. Cullen… Paile screwed her eyes tight and bit her lip. Cullen would be alright, she tried to convince herself. Creators knew he was a strong fighter. She had seen it herself, sparred with the man enough to feel it. He was strong in mind and body, would recover from whatever he had been put through. She had heard little snippets of his past, of his torture and how he stood against Knight-Commander Meredith. He had every reason to be full of hate and defiance, but he turned from that, led forces of soldiers and mages fairly. He was a good man and he had a good heart, one she had desperately…

Paile turned to her side once again, drew her knees up, curling into herself. Lion, she thought with deliberation, Lion helped to stave off the cold. He was a warm little kitty. Well, a ghost of a smile touched her lips, not so little. When he was around, it was easier to not remember, to push aside the cold. He was, quite simply, her closest friend. She had spent most of her life counting only her clan as companions, and fewer as friends. She used to being quite solitary, hunting alone for days at a time. She found herself having a hard time opening up fully to the copious number of friends she had made, never quite able to make that last step. 

Animals were different, though. They didn’t judge you, didn’t want anything from you. And Lion seemed to make it his mission to be there for her. Varric had called it imprinting, Lion deciding that he was going to stick with her. He could not have shown up at a better time, giving her something to focus on. Maybe the Maker had sent him to her, maybe it had been the Creators; Paile did not try to puzzle it out too much. What mattered is that Lion had shown up when she needed someone.

She prayed that he would still be there when she returned. If both Lion and Cullen were gone, could she continue? Go about what needed to be done, to be confident and collected and not break under the weight of it all? Sometimes all she wanted to do was gallop off on her Hart, find her clan and disappear into the forests. She had drawn strength from Commander Cullen’s strength, from how he spoke to her calmly, how he could lead the men with confidence. If he could do it, surely she could as well. Lion gave her a different kind of strength. She could be herself around him, not have to wear her mask, and delight in things like an innocent laugh, a shared meal. She had been so pleased to have him with her when she had been doing the tedious task of paperwork. While he had slept at her side, she only had to look at his fluffy coat and things had been easier. Somehow, knowing how soft and cuddly he was and that he was right there for her helped to ease the tension the politics of her job created. She wished dreadfully that he could be here now. He would read her anxiety, and he would purr at her and make her smile. 

A little stab of guilt pricked her conscious. The coloring of Lion’s eyes were so like Commander Cullen’s. Sometimes it was too easy to imagine that it was the shemlen at her side. When she had been saying goodbye to Lion, his little lick on her cheek had caused such a tumultuous mix of emotions. She had felt such happiness at his display of affection, love for the feline making her chest fill. He had never done that before. He had seemed to understand her worry, and had tried to put her at ease. She had been so happy, but a small part of her had imagined that the eyes staring up in tenderness had been Cullen’s. That it had been the golden man that had brushed a kiss tenderly along her cheek. His kiss, she had imagined, would have been filled with his feelings for her and his wish for her to return to him safely and quickly. She had blushed at the lightning quick mix, feeling confused by the idea, and almost as if she had betrayed Lion. How could she wish for her best friend, her little bodyguard, to be replaced? 

_Creators, Maker, please keep them both safe. Let Commander Cullen be well and return to Skyhold. Please don’t punish them for my greed._ Paile prayed into the night. 

***

Cullen stalked the battlements. He stalked the halls, the stairs, the towers, and the gardens. By now he was no longer a surprise to the residents of Skyhold, although most still watched him warily. He did not attempt to be friendly, too on edge, and he really felt no need. If he was to be trapped in this form, he would do what he could to help the Inquisition, not be a cosseted house cat. And the best thing for him to do was to be the Inquisitors bodyguard, always alert with no prejudices in the way. He did not go out of his way to frighten people though. If people approached him, he just slinked away; he did not snarl or attack. A group of children had once approached him warily. Cullen had let them come close, and they had tentatively gave him a pet each before they had scampered off, giddy at their braveness at touching the Lion of Skyhold. In the long intervening days since, they had come up to him, progressing for barely-there pets to scratches down his side and happy chatter flying over his head. Cullen felt a smile scrunch his whiskers at their awe of him. These were the highlights of the seven interminable days she had been gone, the only real joy he took.

His nightmares were back, stronger than they had been since he had been transformed. Visions of his torture, of the friends that had been dissected in front of him, of the mages he had once conversed with twisted into grotesque beings. Of Paile, giggling down at him over the side of the bed, and then gasping in pain, blood welling from her lips and swords piercing through her back. Visions of Knight-Commander Meredith, eyes mad and glowing with the same red of the sword she swung. Of Cullen coming up behind Paile and slipping his arms around her waist, only to realize that she was a statue, her body transformed into solid lyrium. Or even worse, where she twisted to look up at him and smiled cruelly, no trace of her gentleness or compassion remaining, her eyes now red and malicious.

So Cullen paced. He walked amongst the soldiers as they drilled. If he noticed attention slacking or faulty form, he would sit and watch keenly. The soldiers, noticing his presence, would train harder. Cullen wasn’t sure if they were nervous of him, which was probably a part of it, or nervous of what Rylen would do. Good man that he was, Rylen had noticed that he only paid attention to those who needed the attention. The men would be made to repeat their drills rigorously while Cullen watched; only allowed to progress when Rylen said. So Cullen had become a fixture on the training field once more… only this time as a sort of eagle-eyed mascot. Maker’s breath, how wonderful. 

At night, Cullen practiced himself. No one was around to see his attempts at fighting, wooden dummies bearing the brunt of his frustration. However, the increasing amount of claw marks on them couldn’t be missed, and he had seen the speculative looks shot at him. He shrugged it aside the best he could. He was getting better, becoming more agile and gaining strength in his attacks, but felt like he was progressing too slowly. There was no training he could draw from, no masters to guide him. Perhaps if they had mabari and their handlers, he could emulate from then. But there were none at Skyhold, and he didn’t have any past experience to draw from, Templars having little to no interaction with the Ferelden discipline. 

In the cover of darkness, Cullen also tested his stamina. It was remarkable how long he could run, and he would dart through the gardens, up the ramparts, around the edge, down the broken section of wall and into the stable courtyard. Then he would reverse the process. Patrols always tensed in readiness when he passed, and he made a sort of training game of it. He kept them on their toes, alert to all movement, and he would mark his passing, keeping track of how fast he was completing his laps. 

Cullen felt the itch under his fur, the agitation that always spoke of the lyrium withdrawal attacks he suffered. He hadn’t been sleeping well, but maybe this attack would suck him under enough that he wouldn’t dream. He changed his course, headed down the rampart stairs to the gardens. He only ever slept in Paile’s room, an easy habit he had fallen into that he didn’t examine too closely. He told himself it was because of the convenience, which was true, if not the whole truth. The guards would open the doors for him, and he always had food and water there as well. _Kept like a common house cat._ Cullen pushed aside the anger, knowing that much of it was due to his withdrawals.

He passed from the gardens into the main hall, and made it about two thirds of the way down before he heard it. Two Orleasian men were talking to each other in the half whisper of ones who actually wanted to be heard. They were not of the Inquisition, probably visiting nobility being dignitaries, and wore those ridiculous masks. “Ugh, it is that beast again,” one tittered to the other as Cullen stalked past them. “Why is such a creature allowed at the Inquisitor’s side?”

“What would you expect?” The other responded in the sneering tone of nobility. They always thought they were better than anyone simply because they had a title. “The savage beast’s master is a savage knife-ear!” He crowed in amusement of his little witticism. 

Cullen spun immediately at the slur against Paile, a loud growl punching from his lips, his fangs dropping in a snarl. Both the men started in shock, babbling out incomplete sentences, and backing away from him. Cullen stalked forward, crouched slightly, feeling the powerful ripple of his body. “Good kitty. Nice kitty. We were only joking. Someone call this beast off!” The last was shouted to the others in the room. Noise had increased, everyone pulling back from the three of them. Confusion at his sudden hostility came from some, but those closest to the two Orleasians just watched him, interested in seeing what the Lion would do to someone who insulted the Inquisitor. Many of the Inquisition forces looked pleased at his hostility.

“Well, well, well,” a rich accent came from behind him, Cullen recognizing it immediately as that of Madame de Fer. Cullen did not break from his focus, the men now pinned to the wall as he watched their every move, keeping poised to fly into attack. Vivienne walked calmly up beside him and stopped, looking as relaxed as if she were conversing about the weather. “Lion, darling, what do we have here?” She spoke in a smooth tone, but Cullen could feel her sharp awareness and he knew that she had also heard the insult. She would not be benevolent. 

She swept a cool gaze over the men, who had fallen silent at her approach, their nervousness not decreasing in the least, faces pale and frightened. “Help us!” one finally squeaked out and Cullen growled loudly. The man shrank back into the stone, trying to disappear. 

Vivienne pursed her lips, and looked down at him. “This is the Inquisitors feline,” she drawled sweetly, unhurriedly. “Did you know that?” She asked the men. After a moment, the two nodded their heads. “Lion is such a loyal animal, is he not?” They nodded once more, this time faster, as if to appease them with the praise. “And so very fearsome. It is no surprise to me that the Inquisitor made him her personal bodyguard. Does it surprise you?” The men shook their heads, agreeing with her, eyes wide behind their masks. 

“It was very courageous of you gentlemen, to incite his ire. No doubt you were testing him, seeing if Lion’s loyalty remained true in the face of the Inquisitors absence?” Vivienne asked politely. Cullen growled low at the two, flexing out his claws, and they spoke over each other in their haste.

“Oh yes… had to know if he was… only testing him… Inquisitor deserves the best…” Sweat stains started to show through their doublets, their gestures frantic and jerky.

“Such bravery,” Vivienne sighed, sounding as if she admired them, but for the steel beneath the words. Cullen smiled fiercely, sensing her going in for the kill. “Surely Skyhold must seem tame to two such bold gentlemen.” She smiled sweetly at them, and they stumbled out a few words before stopping, unsure what the correct answer to this statement would be. Vivienne continued, “Perhaps the three of us could speak with Lady Montilyet? I am quite sure that there are more… adventurous posts that Orlais could find for you.” Both men paled even further behind their masks, and only a squeak left one of their mouths. Vivienne took this to be an agreement.

She walked up to the two of them and offered each an arm. After wary seconds of looking at Cullen, growling and fangs bared, they latched onto her arms, clinging to her as if a lifeline. Vivienne nodded to Cullen once, her brown eyes as hard and dark as obsidian. Cullen pivoted as they passed, stalking behind them as they marched down the hall and through to Josephine’s door. Only once the door was shut did he stop his low growl. 

Cullen turned to head up to Paile’s room again, agitated but pleased. The men would be gone from Skyhold in a matter of hours, closely watched and their destination somewhere very uncomfortable and dangerous. Madame de Fer in all her glory, with Lady Montilyet backing her up, the two would probably be disowned and disgraced before the week was out. 

Talk immediately sprang up from the crowd in the main hall, excited and loud. Members of the Inquisition came up to him, words of praise tumbling from them. A few of the most brave brushed fingers down his side as he passed, and Cullen let them. Dignitaries all over the room took note, and word of this would most likely be spread through Thedas. Cullen felt no remorse. He was the Inquisitor’s bodyguard, The Lion of Skyhold. Let them hear him Roar.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am giddy at everyone's response to this crazy story that wouldn't leave my head. It was so ridiculous that I couldn't imagine people would like it as much as you seem to. I thank you, again and again, with kitty Cullen licks!

Cullen watched the two Orlesian men depart with narrowed eyes, his tail twitching. He sat on the edge of the battlements, right next to his office, making sure the two left with no fuss. The two men below both twitched nervously, a group of Inquisition volunteers escorting them from the castle. News of the insult and the men’s subsequent ‘relocation’ had spread through Skyhold quickly, and Cullen was not the only one watching them leave. He was pleased to see the sheer number of Inquisition members joining him. The Herald was well loved, her performance as Inquisitor was one that the men and woman beneath her tried to emulate, her race no factor to them. They would not tolerate such rudeness towards her. 

Josephine and Vivienne had indeed worked quickly, and night was just barely falling around them. They group on the wall stood silently, keeping watch as the departing crowd walked across the bridge into the next gate house. As it grew darker, more and more of the men left the ramparts, but Cullen stayed. His keen eyesight followed the path that twisted and turned for as long as he could. When they finally passed the last turn and forever out of view, he nimbly jumped from his perch and stretched. It was full dark now, probably about seven. Cullen walked into his office and paced for a bit. Knight-Captain Rylen had partially moved in, just enough to take over Cullen’s job. His sturdy desk was now covered in paper with Rylen’s handwriting, but the books in his shelves were still the same. His things up the ladder were probably also untouched. Cullen idly wondered where his armor had gone; it was obviously not lying in the middle of the room anymore. 

He moved to the slotted window put his paws up to the cold stone. Down below him was the bridge, and he recalled all the times he stood here, stoically waiting for the Herald to come riding back triumphantly. She would come back this way, tomorrow. At least, that is what the rumors said. Not surprisingly, no one who knew for certain had told him the reports. He had heard some of the castle staff talking about her return when he had left Paile’s room just a little while ago. His attempt at sleep had been pitiful, nightmares attacking him relentlessly. So he had abandoned the idea and had slipped through the castle, roaming. And had heard she was coming back tomorrow. He was too amped up to sleep. It was far too early to do any of his self-imposed training. Perhaps the Chantry room was quiet enough now and the doors still open?

He walked the long way to the gardens, along the wall. Besides his office, all of the towers were still in decay and unoccupied, and the patrols had taken to leaving the doors open as they made their rounds. This worked well for him, and he slipped unseen down into the green of the garden courtyard. It wasn’t quite deserted; two gardeners chatting by the herb beds and a few Sisters spoke the Chant softly, slowly walking along the paths. Many were at dinner, others in Herald’s Rest. Cullen moved carefully to the room set up for Skyhold’s Chantry and peered inside. No one occupied the space, so he slipped in, and settled in the back corner.

He sat in the darkness, the light from the multitude of candles at Andraste’s feet not reaching back here. He gazed up at the holy woman before him, and slowly the Chant of Light came to his mind. He worked through the passages with deliberation; he did not want to offend her or the Maker with his prayers. Perhaps they were cringing at the prayers of a cat… but perhaps not. Surely they knew that it was his spirit in this body, that the man was in earnest. He had much to pray for, much to ask for in the name of the Herald of Andraste. She was always in one kind of danger or the other. But, surely they would keep their Herald safe? Cullen wouldn’t risk it, and did his best to appeal to the Maker. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, his prayers and the Chant the only thing that he was aware of for some time. 

When he first heard the ringing of metal on stone, he dismissed it as patrols. The increase in voices and talk was due to soldiers spilling from the tavern. The whinny of a Hart, though, brought his head whipping around. There was only one Hart in Skyhold, and that Hart was currently away with Paile. If the Hart was back, that meant… Cullen sprang to his feet and darted into the night. 

***

Paile sighed in relief as they passed through the castle gates and turned for the stable. Torch light lit their way as their tired mounts practically raced for the comforts of the stables. She was not the only one well pleased to be home. The journey had been long but very successful. They had rescued their men with no casualties, closed the rifts, and had been able to shut down the magic which was bringing the undead to their semblance of life. They had all left eagerly, excited to get out of the damp and cold. She grimaced at the way her clothes stuck to her. She had been right, everything had gotten damp… practically waterlogged from all the trekking through the marsh they had had to do.

She slid off her Hart, giving him a fond pat on the neck, groaning as her legs adjusted to standing again. Stable hands came forward quickly and took him away to be groomed and bedded down for the night, and all Paile could think of was following suit. She was exhausted; sleep had been elusive and hard won during their trip, and she was sore from fighting and long hours riding. A few of the castle staff came out to help, and she quickly ordered hot baths for her companions and herself, as well as some food. Solas looked as tired as she must, but it was harder to tell with the other two. Cassandra never let any weakness show, although she looked just as bedraggled. Cole was… Cole had always been hard for her to read, but she assumed he would enjoy the heat of a bath. Creators knew that Skyhold was not exactly warm, and she shivered as the wind cutting through her damp clothing. 

Paile leaned over and groaned at her protesting muscles, picking up her pack. She was about to sling it over her shoulder when she heard a large meow coming from the courtyard. She turned quickly, a smile spreading rapidly, her discomfort forgotten. Lion came bounding out of the darkness, racing for her. She took a few steps toward him, happy to see him. Lion meowed once more, still racing, and he looked as if he would run into her. Except, he slowed quickly, dropping his speed to a walk, and then more sedately continued towards her, his head lowered and eyes flicking from the ground, up to her face, then back down. 

Paile tilted her head to the side, curious at his reaction. He looked almost… embarrassed? Paile laughed and dropped to one knee, reaching out with her arms. “Silly Lion. Don’t you want a hug?” She smiled widely at him, encouraging. That seemed all he was waiting for, and the giant cat hurled himself into her chest. Paile laughed at the impact, braced for his weight, and wrapped her arms around the purring feline. She sank her fingers into his fur, and stood, bringing him up higher on her chest. Lion rubbed his face along her cheek, down her neck, and pulled back for a second to look at her face, before he repeated the actions on her other side. Paile buried her grin in the fur of his neck, feeling her spirits lighten. She felt at ease, happier now than she had been all week. She soaked up the affection, starved for the happiness, and Lion seemed to bask in the same feelings. 

Genuine smiles of enjoyment were on most of the witnesses’ faces, happy that the Inquisitor was able to show such delight. Cole smiled widely, grinning along with the staff. Solas slipped away quickly, keeping with his routine to avoid the feline as best as possible. Cassandra stood with her arms crossed, trying to look disapproving. The upwards twitch of her lips gave her away though. She and Lion stood cuddling while everyone continued in their jobs. One of Paile’s maids slipped in and picked up the forgotten pack, smiling as she made her way to the kitchen to prep things for her return.

With a sigh, Paile pulled back, and Lion did the same. She briefly dropped a kiss on the soft fur of his forehead before lowering him down to the ground. He meowed at her, and she smiled in amusement at him. “Well, my little Lion, where you good while I was away?” He chuffed up at her, and she laughed at his indignant display. “I am sure you were the perfect gentleman,” she teased down to him. She started towards the castle, and he fell into step beside her, gazing up at her raptly. She kept her eyes on him as well, and they walked slowly. “I missed you, you know,” she said gently. He meowed in response and rubbed against her leg. 

“You would have hated it, the Fallow Mire.” She continued, “It was so wet. Sometimes we had to wade through water up to our waists,” she shivered. “Once I am done talking to Leliana, I am getting out of these wet clothes.” Lion twitched his tail at that, but she didn’t know what it meant, so she continued with telling him about her journey. He meowed in response and rubbed against her knee as they climbed the stairs to the main hall. 

It was late enough that there were few still lingering in the hall, but those that were called out greetings. Paile stopped and talked, accepting their welcomes and congratulations on finding the missing men. What shocked her though was the warmth they rained down on Lion. “Right proper bodyguard, this one is,” an off duty dwarven soldier beamed at him. “Wouldn’t want to be at the wrong end of his anger.” Paile raised an eyebrow at the comment, and looked down at Lion. He just blinked at her slowly and she squinted at him. _Something happened, huh?_ Lion shrugged his shoulders. _I will get the truth yet._ The small group was brief, thankfully, and they let the two of them continue on their way.

The two of them climbed the stairs to Leliana’s tower, listening to the squawking of the crows grow louder. Paile tossed an amused glance down at Lion, “It seems impossible these birds are as silent as they are in the field. I swear Leliana must train them to…” She felt the smile slip from her face, a lump catch in her throat. She had told this to Commander Cullen, just two days before his disappearance. It had been the last time they had spoken to each other.

Lion butted his head against her knee and meowed up at her. She shook off the thought and locked it back inside. “She must train them to be as obnoxious as possible here. Maybe she has a grudge against Solas?” Lion watched her closely, seeming to see through her bravado, but he just marched beside her.

Leliana stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded. “Scout Harding reports of your success.” Paile nodded in greeting, falling in beside her as they moved further into the room. “Although this venture will not bring us much power amongst the nobles of Orlais, it has boosted moral here. If you become even more popular,” Leliana teased, “I may have to have a statue of you commissioned!” 

Paile shuddered, “Creators, no. Don’t you have to pose for those things?” They grinned at each other, before she turned towards the more serious business. “I would very much like to turn in for the night. Anything I should know before I do?”

Leliana nodded, “We have made Skyhold as defensible as possible. We were quite prepared before, but additional spells have been placed, the broken section of wall the next to be rebuilt. We have done what we can, and Knight-Captain Rylen and I have decided that, if you agree, we may return to normal patrols.” 

“Good,” Paile agreed, “The anxiety and increased activity were not helping anyone.” She hesitated for a moment, “And have we news of Corypheus or Commander Cullen?” 

“Perhaps.” Leliana brought up a few sheaves of paper, and Paile recognized the scraps as those that would have been sent via crow. “We have news of concentrated Red Templars and missing people coming from Emprise du Lion.” Leliana tossed Lion a little amused glance, “No relation to our Lion, of course.” Paile started at the warmth, confused again, but Leliana continued. “It is a little early for my scouts to have some concreate evidence, but it may be a stronghold of theirs. Perhaps the Commander is there. I will continue to collect information, and will bring you news when I receive it.” 

Paile nodded and turned to go, eager for her bath and bed. She paused, and turned back to her spymaster. “Leliana… what happened with Lion? Why is everyone treating him as if he is some sort of hero?” Lion meowed at his name, staring up at her.

“Lion,” Leliana stated warmly, “Came to your defense in a most impressive way. He made two dignitaries see the errors of their beliefs, and the two rapidly decided that they would do better elsewhere.”

“Oh dear,” Paile whispered, biting her lip and looking down at Lion. His gaze had hardened, no look of sorrow there. A warrior’s soul burned in the fluffy feline body, something she forgot when it was just the two of them. “It won’t be an issue for Josephine, will it?”

“Oh, on the contrary,” Leliana laughed, “Josie worked it out splendidly, and now there will be few who would make the mistake of disrespecting you.” 

Paile crouched down to Lion, and scratched along his neck. He leaned into her hands, but did not purr. His golden gaze was steady, determined and strong. “Thank you, Lion.” She whispered. He meowed at her once, before he turned and moved to the stairs, and meowed again.  
“I think that means it is time to go,” Leliana chuckled. Paile stood, groaning at the protest of her sore muscles.

“I think you might be right,” She laughed. Lion waited for her to catch up to him, and then fell into step. They quickly got to her bedroom just as the last bucketful of water was being dumped in her bath. Paile groaned at the thought of the heat, and quickly started to divest herself of her sodden armor, the maid smiling at her and leaving. She felt a little guilty at the grime encrusted on her equipment, but she pushed it aside. She would do it tomorrow. A light herbal scent came from the hot waters, and she breathed an appreciative sigh as she slipped her chest piece of her head. They always used a combination of Vandal Aria, Elfroot, and just a bit of Crystal Grace for her baths. It reminded her of the forests she grew up in. A large fluffy towel was folded on a table next to the large tub, and all of it placed before a roaring fire. A tray of food sat next to the towel, and another tray filled with soaps and lotions for her long hair. Paile couldn’t wait. She bent and hurriedly undid the rest of her armor, groaning at the relief it felt to get out of it, and stacking the pieces on the stone so that the damp wouldn’t seep into the carpets. 

It wasn’t until she made to remove her sodden clothing that she noticed that Lion was absent. Frowning, she looked around the room. He sat before the far balcony, the one overlooking the garden, rigidly staring out the glass there. His tail twitched in agitation. Paile walked up behind him, and opened the door slightly. Lion darted out into the night, keeping his eyes trained away from her. She frowned at his behavior, more than a little puzzled, but she shrugged. He was his own creature. Who knew what went on in his head? She turned back to her bath, started to undress, and quickly resolved to soak until she was clean, wrinkled, and blissfully relaxed.


	14. Chapter 14

Cullen had thought that Paile’s return would mean that he would stop pacing in agitation. But apparently now that she was back, he had a new kind of agitation to work off. Their return to her room had presented him with the bathtub awaiting her. Instantly his mouth had dried out, his thoughts growing decidedly heated at what a bath meant. When she had taken off her armor, her clothing had been damp, clinging to her curves. He had bolted to the far balcony, the safest place for him to be out of the way. And now she was in the hot water. Which meant she was feet from him, wearing nothing, wet. Maker’s breath.

 

He wished he could scrub a hand down his face, rub at the prickling of his neck, try to drive the fantasy visions from his mind. She was so close, nothing but his paper-thin honor stopping him from knowing what she truly looked like. No more hazy memories from his dreams. No more wondering if she looked as strong as she was. No more wondering if the tips of her breasts were the same color pink as her lips. Cullen shook his head, glad that the winter winds were cutting through the mountains strongly tonight. 

 

From inside, Paile started to hum a tune, splashing away in the water. He swallowed hard, trying to calm the heat boiling in his veins. Rich forest scents wafted from the room as she washed, smelling so much like her. He imagined the way she would comb her fingers through her silver hair, tipping her head back into the water. There was only so much a man could take before he snapped, and Cullen felt like he was on the precipice. He was a cat, though, the physical limitations stopping everything, although the heat just built. He could not do what he wanted to do.

 

Paile sighed heavily and happily, and continued to hum her song. Cullen wondered if it was Dalish, the tune unknown to him, wondered if she missed her clan. He wondered how she could continue to stay so happy. The woman had been through Fade and back, literally, and still maintained her optimism and goodness. Cullen gazed up at the star blanketed sky; self-disgust curdling the heat in his stomach. He had thought he had been through the worst any mortal could endure. His torture had been horrendous, and he had allowed it to twist him. He had been blinded by it, angry and bitter for years afterwards. It had been easier to fall back on that anger, but it had been toxic in so many ways. He still struggled with it, with letting his experiences shadow his every day. And then Paile had entered into his life. 

 

She had been through more trauma in just a few months, than Andraste herself had come up against during the whole of her holy war. Paile lead armies to battle, closed portals spewing demons, walked through the horrors of the Fade, faced archdemons, seen countless people die, had sacrificed herself repeatedly, and still hummed at the simple pleasures of a bath. She still laughed with her friends, didn’t let her own experiences blind her to the big picture, still helped with even the smallest requests while saving whole villages. 

 

Something had changed in him, when she had returned. When he had heard her arrive, he had dashed as quickly to her side as possible, not thinking of anything except seeing her. When she had seen him running towards her, she had brightened, becoming more animated. But he had slowed, unexpectedly nervous at her reception. Why would she be so happy to see him, or rather, to see Lion? He was just a cat to her, a new addition to the circle around her. But she had dropped down and opened her arms to him, smile full of everything he wanted. And he had run. Had not stopped to think about his actions, not stopping to think about what it meant. He acted on the impulse he had had since watching her drop to her knees in the snow. To assure himself that she was real, that she was alive and back with him. All the times he watched for her from his narrow office window, buried himself in his work, telling himself that he was just worried about the Herald, the lie boiling down to the hard truth that he just wanted to be with her.

 

Cullen closed his eyes and drew a big breath into his lungs, letting the cold air clear him. And he let himself acknowledge what he had known for a long time. 

 

He loved Paile. 

 

He had been in love with her for so long, he saw now, he didn’t even know when it had started. She had been calm and determined when everyone had thought her a murderer, ignoring the venom spewed at her and determined to do what he could. He had watched her, her purity shining from behind the raggedness. Her poise at everyone’s sudden adoration, becoming part of their leadership, had made him notice her even more. Her unabashed questions had flustered him, made him blush and stammer, and smile crookedly to the darkness as he had tried to sleep later. How she made him feel; his stomach had knotted when she had stayed behind in Haven, how dizzy with relief when he had been when he gathered her close to his chest after she returned from the dead. How she had provided him with an anchor in the days after. Had given him the determination and focus to prevent anything from happening to her again; steadied him when he had felt shaken. When he was with her he felt valued, able to lay the anger of his past to rest where it belonged. He felt happy, as if he were finally the man he was meant to be.

 

He loved the woman behind the Herald, behind the Inquisitor. The one who smiled at Lion with none of her barriers up, the one who hummed when it was just the two of them, and slept with her fingers curled in his fur. The one who looked pained at Cullen’s disappearance, who looked just as determined to find him now as she ever had been. And he longed to be both to her. He wanted to be the only one she dropped her last guard around, the one she hugged close to her after they had been apart. He wanted to command her armies, to train her men to be her support, follow her into battle. Wanted to be the one who cradled her in his arms, in their bed after making love, with her hand buried in his hair. 

 

But here he was. A cat. Stuck potentially forever in this body. Maker, all those months he wasted. 

 

Cullen didn’t know how long he stood motionless in the darkness of the balcony, praying to the stars. Behind him the light poured from her room, beckoning. Cullen finally turned, and walked slowly towards the open door. He could not resist Paile’s pull anymore. Maybe he would never get what he craved, but he was going to cherish all the time he had with her. He would do what he could for her, be her bodyguard and confidant and provide a shelter from her burdens. 

 

He stopped just inside the door, absorbing the scene presented before him. Maker’s breath, she was beautiful, too ethereal to be real. Paile lay in the tub, amethyst eyes closed, pale lashes holding drops that sparkled like diamonds. She was slouched down to her shoulders in the water, lips parted in sleep, the water ripping slightly with each breath she took. Her starlight hair shimmered in the crackling flames from the fireplace, slicked back and over a shoulder and spreading into a gently waving fan when it hit the water. She looked tiny in the large tub, vulnerable and young and precious. Cullen felt his chest swell with his love, almost painful in its completeness. 

 

The tray of food had been mostly consumed, although there was still a large amount of meat, doubtlessly left for him. Cullen took soft steps toward her, ignoring the meal, not hungry for food. The bath water would be cooling, and Paile would rest much easier in her bed. He sat a few feet from her, and gently meowed at her. 

 

For a second, she didn’t make any movement, but then she scrunched her nose, making the delicate lines of _vallaslin_ wrinkle. She slowly blinked awake, looking at him. Her sleepy eyes warmed as they saw him, and Cullen found himself standing, padding a few steps closer. She smiled gently at him, before a great yawn seemed to catch her by surprise. She laughed through it, reaching a hand from the water to cover her mouth. He just tilted his head to the side, basking in her glow.

 

“Creators,” she finally said, “I am tired. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She dunked her head quickly beneath the cooling waters, rising once more. She reached for the towel on the table, and then hesitated, shooting him a glance. Cullen watched as she shook her head slightly, and turned from him. In the glow of the fireplace, he saw pink creep along her cheeks and up her pointed ears. He had never seen that happen, she didn’t blush often, and he was fascinated by the pretty points of her ears changing colors. The delicate blush made him turn though, giving her a moment of privacy.

 

But Cullen couldn’t ignore the need to watch her stand from the water. His discipline had been shot to shreds when he had finally let himself feel everything he did for her. From the corner of his eyes, he greedily observed her. The water rushed down her body, curves exposed and painted with a warm glow. She stood turned towards the fire, exposing her back to him. Her skin was silky, burnished in the light, and Cullen traced the scars scattered here and there. He wanted to know how she got them, to trace them with his lips. The gentle bones of her shoulder blades and spine lead a graceful line to the arch of her back, drawing his gaze reverently downward. Her butt was a thing of beauty, and Cullen followed with his eyes the drops of water that rolled from the hollows in the small of her back down over the lush curve. Paile reached up with her arms, and leaned forward to swing her hair before her, twisting the strands free of excess water. As she shifted, her muscles rippled, her power and dedication obvious in the tautness of her body. She flung her hair back over her shoulder, the strands unwinding and brushing at her waist, teasing him with their touches.

 

Paile turned slightly, reaching for the towel. In that brief moment, her breasts were revealed to him, and Cullen felt the breath leave his body. Better than anything he could imagine, because they were hers, real not imagined. The cool air had tightened her nipples to peaks, the color indeed the same dusky pink as her lips. As she moved, they rose and fell, high and soft and beyond perfect. Cullen curled his paws into the floor, imagining palming them with his hands. Imagined raising the delicious curves to his lips, feeling the nipples pearl against his tongue. His all too brief gaze was cut off by the fluffy towel Paile wrapped around herself, and she stepped from the tub carefully. Her thighs clenched and released, and Cullen could practically feel them around his hips, squeezing and urging him as they both moved together. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing, deciding he didn’t need the embarrassment of passing because he forgot to breathe.

 

He listened to her cross the room and gather clothing, before slipping into the side room to change once more. He didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse, but Maker forgive him, he wanted to watch her more. She was sensual as she moved, confidant in her body, and he could only imagine how stunning it would be to watch her dress. Or better yet, undress for him, teasing him mercilessly and slowly. 

 

A few minutes later, she returned, toweling her hair dry gently as she walked towards her desk. She dropped the towel across the back of her chair, and quickly ran her brush through the damp strands. She yawned once more, blew out the candles around the room, and slipped beneath the sheets of her bed.

 

“Lion, are you joining me?” She asked after he remained where he was. She sounded more than half asleep already, voice husky and slightly unfocused. Cullen took one more deep breath and opened his eyes, training them on the elf. She had her head propped up in her left hand, curled on her side, eyes half closed. She patted the covers next to her, the invitation obvious. Cullen gulped, then rose and gently leaped onto the bed beside her. He came up to hollow of her side, no longer content to sleep at her hip. As soon as he lay down, she sighed, and scooted into him. She nuzzled into the fur of his neck, and brought her arm up around his body, threading her fingers into his mane and scratching lightly.

 

“I missed you dreadfully. It was hard to sleep out there, too cold and lonely,” she murmured, and he wondered if she would be saying these things if she weren’t half asleep. “My Lion. It’s easier to relax when I know you will be watching over me.” Cullen felt that fullness in his chest once more, not able to express it, so he purred to her gently, softly.

 

He felt her smile, felt her fingers falter as she started to drift. “I am glad you are still here,” she whispered as she pulled back slightly, and pressed her lips to his forehead. The kiss was one of pure affection, enveloping him completely, and she left her warm lips in place for a long second before dropping her head back down to the pillow. Cullen swallowed tightly, and then tenderly licked along the _vallaslin_ beneath her closed eye. She smiled again, and slipped into sleep.

Cullen watched her for a moment, eased by her presence in a way he didn’t want to sleep through. Finally, though, his own lack of sleep started to catch up with him, and he carefully laid his head down next to hers, snuggling just a bit closer. He drifted off, and his dreams that night were filled with the two of them together, peaceful and happy.


	15. Chapter 15

Paile awoke slowly, a smile curving her lips as she felt Lion’s soft fur tickling her face. Lazily, she blinked open her eyes, absorbing the unconditional love that the sleeping cat provided. He had shifted through the night slightly, now laying splayed out on his side, facing her. He was huddled up to her, still tucked in closely. Last night when he had joined her, he had been chilly from his time spent on the balcony, but now he was warm, her own personal little heater. She had missed his warmth when she had been away. Paile curled closer to him, rubbing her face in the fur of his neck. Lion came awake at her movements; stretching his legs out, his fur fluffing up even more, if possible. Paile scrubbed her fingers along his side and belly before she dropped a quick kiss on his forehead. His familiar golden eyes popped open, and he meowed up at her sleepily. 

“I have to go to work,” she gently said to the mostly asleep feline, before she climbed from bed. “If you want to be lazy, you can stay here.” The cat kept his half-closed eyes trained on her as she went about the room, rolling over as she gathering clothing and slipping into the side chamber to change. When she came back out he was still lying on the bed, looking as if he hadn’t moved a muscle. Paile chuckled at his sprawled form. He looked perfectly content to stay in bed all day. 

A sudden, delicious vision made Paile’s mouth go dry, and she turned from the bed quickly, sweeping her hair up to start braiding it. She had pictured Cullen splayed out in Lion’s spot on her big bed. The image burned behind her closed eyes, refusing to be ignored. Cullen’s eyes were half lidded, watching her burningly, his hair ruffled from her fingers. One arm rested behind his neck, head turned to watch her, biceps flexed up hard. Paile licked her lips, feeling the heat sizzling through her belly and breasts, and gripped her hair brush tightly as she tried to get control of herself. He looked as if they had just finished with devouring each other all night long, sleeping only when they weren’t all over each other. A seductive, knowing smile curved at his lips, burned in his eyes, quirked his scar on his lip, a place she wanted to linger over. A fine sheen of sweat covered his sculpted body, one knee raised, confident and unashamed of his nakedness. Oh, how she wondered if her imagination’s pictures were close to true. Would he be as bronzed as he seemed to be? Would he have golden curls anywhere else, matching his unruly curls on his head? How would his sexy stubble feel if she brushed her palms against his jaw, maybe her lips? She could feel her blush racing across her cheeks, up her ears and down her neck and quickly started on the distraction of braiding her hair. 

It took her the whole slow process of doing her hair to calm down. Creators, the man just had a way of staying with her. She wondered why the image had come to her, why Lion so frequently reminded her of Cullen. Was it just because their eyes were practically the same color? Besides that fact, they really didn’t look that similar, she told herself. Cullen had human eyes; Lion had cat eyes, very different from each other. Lion was tawny, his fur an orange and brown mix with grey stripes and a white chest. Cullen was blonde, golden. Cullen had battle scars, while Lion had none. Perhaps it was the way they acted, confident, but at times unexpectedly bashful and shy. 

Paile finished her hair, sighing, putting away her things and banishing the image as best she could. Never mind. There was much she needed to start completing today. Lion, although he looked a little begrudging as he did, jumped from the bed and stretched fully once more, and walked to her side. He stared up at her, and she knelt to scratch behind his ears and under his chin. He purred deeply, closing his eyes and leaning into her hand. Paile soaked up the steady love before straightening, needing to make her way to the War Room. She knew that her two remaining advisors would be waiting for her, and a long meeting would be in store as they worked through everything that had been building for the week she had been away.

She was right; there was much to cover. The three of them debated all the different options available, actions decided for the different sections of the Inquisition. Lion stood with his paws against the table, as before, but this time he kept pressed to her hip, and Paile would absently run her fingers down his back as she thought. It was easy to send out their scouts and diplomats, but they took a while debating about where to send their soldiers. Eventually, Paile called for Commander Cullen’s second in command, and Knight-Captain Rylen joined them. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, they needed to replace Cullen, even if it was just for a short time. He would be back, she thought with determination, and frowning at her silly ideas from across the large table. 

Rylen brought up points that had escaped them, denied ideas they had been debating, and they came to an agreement of where to send some soldiers. He left shortly after that, but halted before he closed the door. He paused, gaze flicking down to where Lion stood by her side. “Inquisitor, when you have finished, may I have a word?” Paile turned towards the man, his hesitant tone a contrast to what she knew of his character. Her brows lowered and she nodded in instant agreement.

“Of course, Captain. Will you be training the men?” At his agreement, Paile continued, “When we have completed our meeting, I will come find you.” Rylen bowed as he closed the door gently behind him. She was confused about the request, though. Surely if it were of importance he could bring it up before her advisors?

She turned back to Leliana and Josephine, and they came to the real heart of the matter, finally. “My scouts have reports from Emprise du Lion.” Leliana stated bluntly. Paile felt her focus narrow, anger and worry striking a blow that forged her sharper. “There is a keep there, Suledin Keep. It is an ancient Elven ruins, and it has become a base for the Red Templars. Our earlier reports were correct; there is a large number of the Red Templars occupying it.” Leliana paused for a moment before continuing, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes at the map. “There have also been reports of numerous dragon sightings.”

Paile felt her stomach flip at the words, unknowingly clenching her Anchor hand in Lion’s fur. Memories of Haven speared her: the Archdemon looming over her, roaring to the sky in raw fury. Its teeth had been as long as her torso, corrupted snout defleshed and skin riddled with holes. The unnatural fire it breathed, men and women screaming as their bodies twisted and melting into charred corpses. Her bravado and hope to save the people during that one sided fight the only thing that had held her together. She had been certain she would die. She had been no match to Corypheus or to the monstrous dragon. The two of them together would have easily destroyed her if it hadn’t been for Cullen’s idea to bring the mountain down.

Lion pushed into her side and meowed at her in worry. “Inquisitor?” Josephine asked gently. Paile blinked the memories from her eyes, re-focusing on the task at hand.

“Yes.” Paile forced her Inquisitor mask back into place, determined to not be cowed by her fear. She kept her left hand buried in Lion’s mane though, feeling the ache from the Anchor throb up her arm. Paile turned to Leliana. “I am sorry. Do we have an indication that this is the Archdemon? Or if Corypheus is in residence at this Suledin Keep?” 

“The keep is the most developed Red Templar base we have found, although Maker knows that there are plenty of places in Thedas he could be hiding. If he were to be anywhere, though, this seems to be the best place for it. The previous reports of people going missing have been confirmed. And, adding to the disturbing, my scouts have mentioned hearing giant’s roars coming from the keep.” Leliana’s face was set in fierce lines, “Letting them continue to dig in there would be a grave mistake.”

“Agreed,” Paile responded immediately, mulling over the problem. “We will need a base to assault the keep from, however. Skyhold is too far to launch an attack from here. When you think that your scouts have gathered enough information, I will take a small group there, set up a foothold. We will look for a place to large enough to gather our forces. Once we have taken such a place, I will send word back here to you and Knight-Captain Rylen will bring the bulk of the army.” They discussed the theory of the attack, but knew they couldn’t pin down details. That would have to wait till all the information they could gather was in. 

“If Cullen were to be anywhere,” Josephine broke into the lull in the conversation, “I do believe that he would be imprisoned there. We have had no luck in locating him, unfortunately, none of our contacts finding any trace of him. But he must be somewhere. Suledin Keep sounds as if it could hold any number of missing people, and no one would know they were there.”

“The thought has crossed my mind as well,” Leliana agreed, “I just wish I had some actual evidence to back up the idea.”

Paile shook her head, “We cannot divert our attention from the matter of routing the Red Templars,” her stomach twisted at the dismissal, but she had to think of the overall good, hating that she had to make the choice. “To prioritize finding him there could damage our purpose. I am sure that we will find the Commander eventually. But if the Red Templars are kidnapping people, we cannot put the fate of one man ahead of theirs, cannot sidetrack from this course.” Lion gazed up at her, and she met his stare. She felt as if he could see right through her mask to the pain underneath, and he gently bumped his head against her hip, not drawing the attention of the women across from her. He almost looked… proud?

Neither Josephine nor Leliana looked happy at her words, but Leliana sighed, “I know. It would be easy to convince myself that I am not being biased, to say I am going into this with a clear head. It is hard to separate the hope from the facts. But Cullen is strong. No matter where he is now, he will soldier on. I just hope that his withdrawals are not taking a turn for the worse.”

Paile jerked her eyes from Lion’s, eyebrows slamming down, “What withdrawals? What do you mean?”

“Cullen stopped taking lyrium when we recruited him to the Inquisition,” Leliana explained, “He has been lyrium free for some time now. Templars who stop taking it are in for a long and potentially dangerous fight. Although, Cullen seemed to be handling it well, better than some others I have seen.”

“Dangerous? Is he alright? Creators, why didn't he tell me?” Paile felt rocked to her core. How could she not know? How could she not have noticed that he was suffering? He always seemed so in control, except the few times he had been flustered, but nothing to indicate this dramatic of a turmoil.

“I don’t think he wanted to bother you. He and Cassandra had a deal. If things were too much for him, Cassandra would let him know, and he would step down from his position as Commander.”

“Creators, he thought I…” Paile cut of her words, clenching her teeth together. Did he think she would care so little about his life? That she would so easily cast him aside, that his pain somehow made him less? Lion moved his paws from the table, instead placing them on her thigh, and meowed a conversation up to her. He looked worried, no doubt sensing the riot of emotions pummeling her. She placed a gentle hand between his ears, trying to soothe him as she tried to calm herself. 

Leliana was gazing at her, eyes narrowed on her, seeing far too much. “Well,” Paile tried to even out her tone, “If the Commander is at the keep, then we will be doubly accomplished. But lets focus on removing the Red Templars. If you will excuse me, I need to speak with Knight-Captain Rylen. Please keep me informed of any updates, and we will discuss when you think it will be time for me to head out.” 

Josephine and Leliana spoke their agreements to her back, as Paile quickly slipped from the War Room. She walked briskly out of Josephine’s office, and then down the stairs to her right, into the empty cavernous space below the castle. She needed a few minutes to herself, and no one was ever in this room. Lion purred up at her, now that they were alone, his questioning meows peppered throughout. She dropped to her knees in the dust and buried her face in his fur, feeling the rumble vibrating through her cheek and ear. She took deep breaths, drawing from Lion’s strength, noticing the slight tremble in her fingers. When she finally felt more composed, she took a shaky breath and pulled away. “Rylen wanted to see me,” she muttered, more to herself than to Lion. He meowed in answer, though, and stood when she did. Paile smiled at him gratefully, “Thank you, my dear friend. It was just the shock. I will be fine.” He chirped and rubbed against her knee.

Erasing the toxic thoughts from her head, Paile headed back upstairs and out to the courtyard, finding the man she was looking for. Rylen watched the fights with a sharp eye and for her arrival. He met with her when she came down the steps, bowing. “Inquisitor, I would like a word. In private,” the man looked pointedly at Lion as he spoke his request. Brows furrowed, Paile looked down at the large feline. Lion snarled silently but stayed in place when she asked him to, obviously unhappy at having to stay behind.

Paile and Rylen walked a distance away before he stopped and linked his arms behind his back. “I feel I should mention some unusual activity that your cat has been involved in.” Paile blinked at this, then looked over to where Lion sat, his eyes narrowed and pinned on them, tail twitching back and forth agitatedly.

“Unusual activity?” Paile repeated, confused at what would require a private word with her about.

“Yes. Unusual. He has taken to running the ramparts at night. I am not sure of the purpose behind it, but the patrols have said that he will keep up his running for hours. And he has increased in his speed and length of time he repeats the pattern. Secondly, he has been attacking some of the training dummies. No one has seen him do this, a fact I cannot account for as there are always patrols about, even at night. Yet for the past week, we have found fresh scratch marks every morning. And they have gotten stronger and deeper into the wood. Thirdly, he has been watching the men most intently. He has a knack for fixating on those who are struggling. I thought I should bring these issues up with you; see if you had anything you wanted to do with the information.” Rylen finished with an inclined head, eyes keen on the animal they discussed as she thought about what she had just been told.

Memories bubbled up to the surface. _I can’t be worried about how you are handling yourself. You are just too untested._ Her words to him from before she had left. Her eyes still locked on her bodyguard, Paile shook her head slightly; wonder making her a little dizzy. He had been training. He had understood that she couldn’t take him with her when she had talked to him before, but this was something more. He was building his endurance, honing his fighting skills, watching men spar and learning from their mistakes. Presumably, all so he could journey with her. Creators, Lion was amazing.

Paile turned eagerly to Rylen, “Captain, do you know of any men who have trained mabari before?” She sounded a little breathless to her own ears, giddy at the possibilities.

A smile split his tattooed face, and he answered just as excitedly, “I was hoping you would say that. I think I can find just the man.”


	16. Chapter 16

The next few days fell into a routine of sorts. She started her mornings with preparations on the Inquisitions assault of Suledin Keep. Since they had decided to focus their attention there, information specific to the area began pouring in. Detailed accounts of numbers, patrols, camps, and any relevant data flew through Leliana to the War Room. Paile, Leliana, and Knight-Captain Rylen spent many hours there, discussing strategies. Josephine, not surprisingly, opted out of these meetings. She spent most of her time writing to the nobles and landowners around Emprise du Lion, forging alliances and gathering information in her own way.

 

Paile had never taken such a large or defensible place before, and she remedied that fact as best she could, throwing herself into the study. She read books on castle assaults, talked with the carpenters who built siege weapons, with Rylen about soldier deployments. They poured over the rough sketches they had of Emprise du Lion, discussing the best locations to dig in when they made their stand. What was originally a two part plan changed to three parts as new geography was mapped out. The area around Suledin Keep was rocky, jagged spires rising twenty feet and valleys dropping just as far. They would need their siege weapons to roll at least part of the way to the castle. That meant they would need to build bridges, and to work in stages up to the keep.

 

Two camp areas were decided on. Unfortunately the best locations were already established by the Red Templars, and would need to be taken. One just between a valley and on top of a bluff, the other at the entrance to the mines. Between the keep and the mines was another unpassable valley and the shells of a village, destroyed recently. The paths through to the mine were narrow, would only allow a small force. They wouldn’t be able to assemble their weapons properly until the second camp was taken. At either location, there had been bridges spanning the sharp gullies, but they had been destroyed. Most likely by the Red Templars, for this exact reason. 

 

Skyhold itself was bustling with activity. The sound of hammers on wood rang through the courtyard as pieces of the massive wooden siege weapons were assembled into pieces. Once they had their foothold, soldiers would cart them to the location and put them together. Ladders, battering rams, and towers were being built; most of the workers were soldiers, doubling their duties for the time being as they pounded at nails instead of dummies. 

 

The blacksmiths were feverishly working overtime, producing and repairing new armor and weapons. The force needed to take the keep would require the best they could supply, but time was not on their side. Surely their largest advantage would be the element of surprise. If they could take the forward camps in a matter of days, the Red Templars would not be able to mount a full defense. So they worked as fast as they could.

 

Although Paile spent time training on her own, she also trained with Lion. Mabari were well known to be dangerous, and half of their fighting prowess was due to the terror a huge savage dog bearing down on a person could cause. Lion was at a disadvantage with that strategy. First of all, he was a cat. Perhaps if he looked more like the Red Lions that terrorized the Frostback Mountains, he would be more recognizable and cause enemies to fear him. But he looked like a fluffy house cat, albeit a large fluffy house cat. Until you were close enough to see his intelligent eyes, and wickedly sharp teeth and claws, he wasn’t too intimidating. The second disadvantage he faced, at least when it came to thinking about the upcoming battle, is that Red Templars didn’t become afraid. Not once they had consumed so much of the corrupting lyrium that it was physically growing from them. Even if Lion were as big as a dragon, there was no thought process in a crystallized Red Templar. Just the need to attack.

 

Rylen’s ‘man’ turned out to be a grizzled old Ferelden soldier, and she was a whiplash task master. Paile panted during a short break, feeling the sweat trickle down her spine and between her breasts. Lion flopped beside her, seemingly less winded than she was, and Paile narrowed her eyes down at him. He gazed up at her placidly, although she swore she saw an amused glint in his eye. Impulsively, Paile stuck her tongue out at him, scrunching her face and acting the child once more. He trilled up at her, amusement now obvious. 

 

“If you have time to be playing games, you are ready to start again,” said Sage, the trainer working her way to their side. Paile stifled her groan, and shot Lion another childish glance while he smiled up at her and bounded to his feet. She never would have thought she had less stamina than a cat. Of course, she was doing more than he was, but still…

 

Sage, while not an expert in mabari training, was a shrewd soldier, able to take what she knew of the fighting style, and work it into Paile’s tactics. Paile was a close and personal fighter, dishing out and taking hits, keeping the attention focused on her. Lion could not afford to be hit; he had absolutely no armor protection. So they worked with his speed and stealth, almost as if he were a rogue. Paile pitted herself against ‘volunteer’ soldiers, no one denying Sage when she snapped at them, and they had developed methods and signals for Lion to fight based on. 

 

Different whistles and shouts would send Lion in, keep him on watch for an opening, or to back off. Currently, they were working on Lion tripping up the enemy, going for exposed ankles or the backs of the knees. Sage shouted, “Again,” and set them to it once more. Paile set her helmet back on, and swung up her sword, studiously looking for an opening. Lion prowled behind her somewhere, she knew, keeping watch for any surprise additions to the party, awaiting her orders. Paile saw the opening she was looking for, and gave a barking shout. Lion darted in from her left side, and he bowled in behind the poor soldier’s feet, knocking the man off balance. The soldier tripped and came crashing down, all while Lion sprinted, three feet away and safe from harm.

 

“Good, Lion.” Sage nodded at the feline, who had circled around and was again at Paile’s back. They halted their exercise, and the soldier stood back up with an audible groan. “Inquisitor, you need to utilize Lion more, stop holding back. He can take care of himself.” Paile nodded once, but chewed her lip, hidden behind her helmet. Maybe she was holding back, just a little, but she was worried about Lion. She didn’t know what she would do if he got hurt while under her orders. She knew she was being ridiculous; she led armies, had seen her companions hurt and soldiers dead under her orders. But the thought of Lion hurt made her physically sick.

 

Lion came up to her, planting his big body in her path. He stared up to her, expression of a warrior beneath all the fur. Paile searched his golden eyes, looking for something, but what she was seeking, she didn’t know. Perhaps signs of him faltering, of Lion looking for a way to get out of this training. If he showed any indication of not wanting to do this, then she could put a halt to this. Lion would never have to go out in the field, would never have to be in any danger. He could stay protected and safe here at Skyhold.

 

Lion never flinched from her gaze, never broke the contact. He was steady, confident and determined. Somehow, he knew what she was looking for, and he never gave her that break. During their hours of training he had never wavered, springing into action when she called, backing off when she demanded. Paile let out a shaky breath, closed her eyes and drew strength from him. When she opened her eyes again, Lion gave her a proud nod, before he resumed standing behind her, brushing against her knee as he passed. How Lion knew what she needed was beyond her, but Paile felt her focus return.

 

Sage watched their interaction for the sidelines, lips pursed and intelligence gleaming from her narrowed eyes. She turned slightly and talked to two of the soldiers who had been helping with their training, before she turned back. “Again,” Her trademark response rang out. Paile started in once more, bringing her sword up in sweeps, her hits clanging against the shield before her. Paile saw an opportunity, and whistled for Lion. This signal caused Lion to dart in, and leap between her and her opponent, knocking the soldier shield arm back, leaving his side exposed. As Paile brought her sword up into the gap, Lion darted around to her back. 

 

A snarled growl brought Paile swinging around in time to catch the addition of two soldiers to the fray. She parried the downward blow of one, while the other went after Lion. Paile yelled out “Cover”, and Lion went on the defensive. He used his speed, darting from the attacks, and melted away into the bushes and disappearing from view. Unable to follow, the soldier turned his attention to her, and Paile worked on the defensive, grimacing as she fought the three of them. She whistled, this one a note for Lion to be ready for her signal. Although she couldn’t see him, she knew he would be on guard. 

 

Paile watched carefully as she was being pushed back, before letting go with a flurry of blows to one of the men, giving out a shout. Lion darted in from her right, sprinting across the field to knock into his feet. The soldier fell backwards, and Paile clanged her blade on his armor in the signal for a killing blow. The man stayed down, panting, and she whirled around, yelling for Lion to hold once more. He darted behind her back as she parried the blows of the two remaining soldiers. 

 

A signal from her brought Lion in, and he attacked the weak break in shoulder armor of the soldier on her left, distracting him with claws and teeth, before Lion spun away once more. The turn of focus allowed for Paile to bring her sword down in a blow that knocked the soldier down, and she marked a killing blow once more. The last soldier was finished off quickly with no need to use Lion’s abilities. Paile stood panting, head turned towards Sage. 

 

“Very good Inquisitor.” Sage came forward and helped the men to their feet. “The two of you are getting adept at this.” Paile took off her helmet, grinning down at Lion, who meowed in praise. In the break, Paile strode to where her skein of water hung and drank greedily. Beside her, Lion did the same to a bowl of water placed expressly for him. After a few more moments, Sage shouted out, “Again.” 

 

With a sigh, Paile placed the helmet back on her head, and started back into the fray. “Remind me to promote her to train recruits,” she murmured down to Lion, “She is one of the toughest drill sergeants I have met.” Lion meowed up at her, and she knew it was in agreement. The two of them took up their positions once more, facing off against the soldiers.

 

A few hours later, they were finishing with today's training, tired and sore, but feeling as if they had a decent handle on their new fighting style. Night was beginning to fall, the air turning icy cold. Any day now they would be getting snow, which would slow their approach to Emprise du Lion. As Paile despatched the last soldier, she heard clapping coming in the direction of the steps, and when Paile saw Leliana descending the stone steps, she knew what the reason was. Without a pause, Paile strode briskly towards her advisor, removing her helmet in the process. They met just at the bottom of the stairs, and Paile spoke without preamble. “It is time, isn’t it.” 

 

Leliana nodded her agreement. “It is time. We should start moving tomorrow. You should collect your team and leave early in the morning.”

 

Paile straightened her spine, feeling her Inquisitor mask harden into place. “On the morrow.”

 

***

 

They had made their announcement shortly after Paile and Leliana had spoken, and Skyhold had responded with a roar. Soldiers had been eager and enthusiastic, pleased to get started on striking a blow to Corypheus. Paile had then pulled aside her friends, and they had decided on how they would proceed. Paile would travel with Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Cole in the first wave. Dorian, Blackwall, Varric, Solas and Sera would follow behind, as clean up crew and triage. Cassandra would travel with the main bulk of the army, leading alongside Knight-Captain Rylen. Paile would start out early in the morning leading the first group, and the rest would follow in waves. 

 

Lion lounged in front of the fire in her room, watching her as she packed and finished up some paperwork. He had been mellow, and probably tired from their training, although he wasn’t as worn out as she was. When the last of her preparations were finished, Paile went to his side, sinking into the push carpet before the fire. He gazed up at her, golden eyes relaxed, waiting for her to speak.

 

Paile licked her lips, absently twisting her fingers in her lap. “Lion,” she started hesitantly, gazing in the fire, “I… I want to take you with us. It will be dangerous, very dangerous.” She paused, trying to search for the words. Beside her, Lion kept quiet, letting her take her time. “I hate the thought of you being hurt, but I think that you hate the thought of being left behind. Actually, I think you wouldn’t let us leave you behind.” She shot a glance to the side, a question on her face. Lion immediately meowed at her. She gave him a gentle smile. 

 

“I don’t know if you can fully understand me, but it seems like it. You don’t know how much you have come to mean to me.” Paile turned slightly, reaching for him. Lion stood at once, and walked to her, crawling half into her lap as she sank her fingers into his fur. He was so large he couldn’t fit fully in the space of her crossed legs, but he draped himself best he could, purring easily. 

 

“You have to promise me you will be careful. I can’t lose you too.” He meowed in answer, reaching his head up to the worry on her face, smoothing it away with loving rubs. “You must be careful.” He gave her another one of his kisses, the rough sandpaper of his tongue swiping at the _vallaslin_ under her eye. 

 

Paile breathed deeply, attempting to loosen the knot her stomach was in. Tomorrow would be the start of a massive battle on their part, and she couldn’t deny she was terrified. So much could change, and not for the better. They may find Cullen in just a few days… and what may have happened to him ate at her. He could have been tortured, or be dead by now… or, even worse, transformed into a behemoth of red, like so many of the other Templars, mindless and monstrous. Lion meowed at her, breaking her from her chaotic thoughts, and Paile turned her attention to him, sinking into the golden warmth of his eyes, the softness of his fur. They stayed before the fire for some time, drawing peace and solace from each other in the calm before the storm.


	17. Chapter 17

They rode, down the mountain, through the forests and plains, back into snowy fields. The Iron Bull was a heavy burden to carry, despite having a massive war horse, and their ride was peppered with breaks to let his mount rest. Cullen used these breaks to the best of his advantage, keeping off his sore feet and panting in breaths. He had thought his training had been productive, and it probably had been, but he had been working on his endurance for only a few days, total. He was keeping up, but just barely. 

 

They were approaching Emprise du Lion, their journey almost reaching the evening of their second day. Yesterday morning, with the sunrise, they had set out, breaking away from the main party that was slowly making their way down the paths of Skyhold. If all worked according to plan, then the rest of Paile’s inner circle should reach their small group after they had cleared the first camp. The second group would hold it, prepare for the bulk of the army, while they then continued onto the mine camp. Sound strategy in theory, Cullen felt a puff of pride at the fact, but to be able to adapt on the fly was an important resource. No doubt there would be some fact that would throw their plans off.

 

Paile plopped down next to him with a sigh, and scrounged around in her pack. She pulled out a piece of dried druffalo, and she tore off a large strip for him. Cullen eagerly took it from her hands, chewing on the hardy piece. He would admit it; he had been growing very used to eating at Skyhold. With their proper kitchen and bustling trade, Skyhold had very good supplies. And, being the Commander of the Inquisition, he had been getting very good meals. With his subsequent transformation, he had also been very well taken care of. Getting back into travel rations, especially when you couldn’t substitute wild plants into your diet and had no time to hunt, was especially difficult.

 

“I am sorry Lion,” Paile watched him with worry in her purple eyes; “I wish I had better to give you. I wonder if this is even good for you.” Cullen paused in his chewing and meowed around his full mouth. She smiled at him, and then tore into her own strips, chewing the tough meat thoughtfully. 

 

“Boss, know how much further?” The Iron Bull sat across the little clearing, his bad knee stretched out as the big Qunari worked his fingers along the ache. “I hate riding,” he grumbled under his breath, wisps of white leaving his mouth. Despite the cold, the man wore his customary harness, nothing to block out the cold. Cullen wondered if Iron Bull thought he had to put up a brave face; being from Par Vollen and Seheron, the cold could not be a fun change.

 

“We will meet with Scout Harding shortly, and we will pass through the town of Sahrnia. We will wind our way up the cliffs, and we could reach our first destination by nightfall.” Paile pulled out their map, marking the paths they would take to reach the Red Templar’s camp. “We can wait for morning, or take them at night.” Unconsciously, Paile started to rub at the Anchor in her palm, tension pulling her face tight. “There is a rift we must close before we continue on, though. I won’t leave the villagers undefended.”

 

“Won’t that give our presence away? It may be more practical to come back to it after we have taken Suledin Keep.” Vivienne daintily tore off a small piece of jerky and popped it into her mouth. 

 

Cullen slightly agreed with her, the villagers faced a higher risk from the presence of the Red Templars, while the demons from the rifts tended to stay in the vicinity of their spawning point. But he knew that the Herald would not allow it. Still, he was glad that someone pointed these things out to her, gave her a different perspective since he could not.

 

“Based on the locations of the rift, and the patrols we have mapped out, we should be able to close it without detection.” Paile straightened her spine and dropped her hands. “I won’t risk people’s lives over barely an hour’s worth of work.”

 

Vivienne inclined her head regally, “I expected nothing less from you, darling.” A ghost of a smile brushed Vivienne’s lips, a fond gleam glowing in her eyes.

 

“I like when we help,” Cole spoke softly, “We help both when we close rifts. But it hurts too.”

 

Cullen chewed the tough meat, puzzled over Cole’s words. What hurts? He knew they were helping the villagers, but who else were they helping? Cullen hadn’t spent enough time with Cole to fully understand what he meant with the cryptic little sentences he spoke.

 

“Its fine Cole,” Paile replied in her gentle tone to the boy, “It needs to be done.”

 

They sat in equitable silence for a few minutes more, everyone lost in thought of what lay ahead. Paile finally stood, cuing the others to start packing up and stand as well. Cullen groaned, stretching as best he could. His feet were sore, and legs tired from the almost constant running. He had been so exhausted last night; he hadn’t been able to properly enjoy sleeping next to Paile. With only a tent to separate them from the cold, he had slept under the blankets, scooting as close to her front as possible. If he had been more aware, he would have savored the feel of her breasts pressed to his body, the little murmurs she gave when she dreamed, her hand sunk into his hair. But he had been unaware, falling into blissful sleep almost instantly. It was such a waste. 

 

Paile watched him with worry, biting her plush bottom lip. Cullen just gazed back, hoping she would see that he was up for this. He knew what he was getting himself into, he wouldn’t stay behind. They started up their last leg, traveling at a fast pace. They were following an obvious road, making the journey easier for him and for the mounts, not having to dodge brush or trees. Sahrnia was just a bit away when they met up with an Inquisition scout, the sky showing the few hours left until dark. He flagged them down on the road, and they followed the scout off the beaten path to the forward camp. 

 

Scout Harding hailed them, “Inquisitor!” Paile and her companions all eagerly dismounted, and Cullen kept to her side as she met up with the dwarf. As soon as she stopped moving, however, he laid down, taking the pressure off of his legs. Maker’s breath, he felt decidedly out of shape. “We’re on the outskirts of Sahrnia. This is what’s left of the town. The lucky ones got out before the river froze over.” Harding gestured to a small trail behind her, and Cullen could see buildings through the trees. “The rest? Penned in by fade rifts and red Templars. We’re the first friendly face they’ve seen in a long, long while.”

 

“I will go down and talk to them, see how we can help.” Paile worked on her pack, pulling out and leaving behind what they didn’t need for fighting. 

 

“The Red Templars have mounted frequent attacks. They want Emprise du Lion badly.” Paile nodded at the news. This was something they had expected. “Well, look who made the trip with you!” Harding smiled widely down at him, and Cullen gave a nod to her. “Who’d of thought that we would have our own Lion in Emprise du Lion. I think it safe to say Maryden will create some sort of song or epic poem about this,” She laughed at Cullen’s disgruntled expression. _If I ever transform back, that will be the least of the songs I will give her fodder for. I imagine shape shifting humans are a rare topic._

 

They set off quickly, leaving behind their mounts and travel packs. They were prepared for battle, and carried only what minimum essentials they would need. The short path to the village revealed a decimated landscape. Most of the buildings were destroyed, the people scraping by in the snow by building fires from their destroyed houses. Paile looked around in concern, frustration and sadness darkening her eyes to a deep violet. Cullen knew she hated what this war was doing, hated the lives forever altered by the destruction and devastation lashed across the weakest backs. 

 

A noble woman spoke to the crowd, passing out food. Paile strode up to her, waiting till she was finished with her distributions. “Thank the Maker. Inquisition, are you not?” The woman spoke, Orleasian accent lilting with aristocratic tune.

 

“Yes,” Paile stepped forward, “We are. We have come to purge the Red Templars from the area.”

 

“I am Mistress Poulin. It is partly my fault that they are here in the first place. I sold them my family’s mine, back before they revealed their natures. I believed them to be knights.” She shook her head in sorrow. “Ever since then, people have started disappearing, and more and more of the monsters show up. And added to our woes, we have to deal with the demons from the rift.”

 

“Our first priority is to close the rift,” Paile assured her. “Then we will make our way to Suledin Keep, and clear them from there. Our army is on its way, and should be here shortly.” They spoke briefly, but much of what Mistress Poulin had to say, their scouts had reported already. They departed her company, and eased their way through the ruins. The villagers were little more than refugees at this point, and Paile did what she could for them. But until the area was settled, nothing much could be done. 

 

As they were about to depart from the ruined village, snarls and the sound of fighting snapped Cullen’s head around. Beyond the village, a man was battling against giant wolves. Their small group turned quickly, and ran out to aid the lone fighter. Cullen dropped back to his position, awaiting Paile’s signal. However, he had no need to help, the Chevalier, Paile, and Iron Bull finishing off the few wolves that had attacked. 

 

“Michel de Chevin at your service, Your Worship.” The man sheathed his sword and bowed to Paile. “I saw the Inquisitions banners from afar. I never expected to see the Herald of Andraste herself.” The man raked a glance from Paile’s head to toe, lingering over her too much. Cullen felt a growl rise up from deep within his chest, and he quickly darted forward, placing himself between the two. The man took a step back, shock replacing the shameless admiration. _Good._

 

“Lion!” Paile admonished, scurrying forward to drop a hand in the hair of his neck. “He is not an enemy. I am sorry Ser. My bodyguard here can be a bit protective.” Although he couldn’t see it, Cullen just knew she was giving this man one of her sweet, disarming smiles, purely based on the man’s expression. Michel de Chevin relaxed, and returned it with a warm, slightly dazed grin. That expression was one he was familiar with. Cullen had felt it countless times spreading across his own face, unable to resist the goodness shining through her sparkling eyes and beaming lips. Maker, he had fallen in love with Paile over that smile she gave. The growl once again bubbled up within him, but Paile’s hands in his fur made him at least attempt to suppress it. Wasn’t his fault he wasn’t entirely unsuccessful. 

 

“Ser Michel de Chevin? Empress Celene’s Champion?” Vivienne asked politely.

 

“No longer a Champion. No longer ‘Ser’.” Cullen felt a vicious satisfaction at the man’s words. “I am here to hunt a demon. This one calls itself ‘Imshael’, and he has settled in Suledin Keep. Imshael is free because I made a mistake. Now that the Inquisition is here, perhaps the Red Templars who guard the keep can be routed.”

 

Paile eased her fingers down Cullen’s neck and back, soothing him. When she stood, he stayed in place, judging that maybe she was right to stop him from blindly attacking this man. Just slightly. “It is our intention to take the keep. We won’t allow the Red Templars to continue here uncontested. Tell me of this demon.”

 

Michel de Chevin eased a hand through his hair, tousling it. “A desire demon, cunning and intelligent. He has been free for some time, most likely gaining power. Why he is here in Emprise du Lion is anyone’s guess. Perhaps he is working with the Red Templars.”

 

Paile chewed her lip in thought. “We hadn’t heard of this demon… it may affect some of our plans. Thank you for the information.” 

 

Michel de Chevin bowed to her regally. “I hope for your success. I may now be disgraced, but I have a strong arm, a stout heart, and I still serve Orlais; if I may be of use, my lady, please let me know.”

 

“You stayed to protect the people, are working to right your wrongs.” Paile stepped forward earnestly. Cullen wondered if she would be angry with him if he again planted himself between the two of them. “The Inquisition does not care about the past; we work towards a better future. We have use for strong arms and stout hearts.”

 

Michel studied her eager features, much too intently and lingeringly. “I cannot sway from my course, not till the demon is dead. After that,” the man put his hand over his heart, “It would be my honor to be of service to the beautiful Herald of Andraste and the Inquisition she leads.” Cullen seethed, the presumption of the man grating him down to his bones. _How dare he?_

 

Paile waved a hand at the compliment, brushed it aside. “When we take Suledin Keep, we can talk more of this. In the meantime, we have much to do. We will first close the rift, and then will work on routing the Red Templars from the area.”

 

“Very good, my lady. I will stay here, protecting the people, until time comes to take the keep.” They made their goodbyes, before turning in the direction of the rift. Cullen stayed watching the Chevalier with narrowed eyes until Paile called for him. He turned and shot to her side, pressing himself against her knee. His stomach boiled, and he knew he was on edge. Jealousy was eating at him. If he were in his human form, that man would not have dared to be act so presumptuous. 

 

Paile looked down at him quizzically. “What got into you? He was a perfectly respectable gentleman. He could be of great help to the Inquisition.” She ruffled a hand along the top of his head, in no way easing his mood. Right, he was a cat to her; she had no concept of what he was feeling.

 

Iron Bull let out one of his loud, barrel chested laughs. “The man wanted to help alright, although I think he would rather have helped himself to you than to the Inquisition.” Paile immediately rolled her eyes, laughing off the comment, but a light blush dusted her cheeks. Cullen growled at her response, feeling the urge to turn around and show the man a lesson. Was it still murder if a cat ripped out a human’s jugular? Paile shook her head at him, and pulled out the map, consulting the locations of the rift. Cullen stayed right at her side, worked on tamping down his seething anger.

 

The sickly green glow of a rift brightened the air before they could actually see it. Paile rubbed at her hand, the Anchor sensing the corresponding magic and reflecting its own light. Everyone brought their weapons to the ready, and prepared to go forward. “Lion, we didn’t practice in the case of demons.” She spoke to him, but never took her eyes off of the approaching rift. “I may not use you; our strategies may be too different, not adaptable.” He meowed up at her, aware she was already running scenarios through her head. 

 

The rift crackled at their approach, flashing brightly. Paile called for him to hold, and he stayed away, ducking down into the cover of some foliage. He would be on the alert, but would not draw attention or potentially get in the way by guarding her back. She had had much more practice with her friends fighting than she had with him in this form. The four had spent many hours battling together, comfortable with their roles and how they worked with each other.

 

The rift flashed out streams of magic down onto the ice, and demons burst into view. There were different demons than Cullen had ever seen, mixed with ones he knew. Weaker shades floated above the ice, shrieking and sending bolts of magic towards Paile and Iron Bull as they rushed into the fray. The two warriors drew the attention of all around them, including that of the strange, small demons flying above the ice. They wore cowled robes and shot of beams of ice, slowing those they targeted with the sustained spells. Cullen dug his claws into the snow, aching to go out and help. But his low stature would make him unhelpful in this fight. Vivienne shot off blasts of lightning, stunning and disintegrating several of the shades, as Cole darted in and around the demons, puncturing the demons with holes from his dagger. 

 

“Bull! Focus on the despair demons!” Paile shouted out to the hulking Qunari, as she cleaved her massive sword through the body of one of the shades. It shrieked, and its body disintegrated into pieces that were pulled in by the rift. The fight went quickly; the group’s familiarity with each other’s fighting abilities obvious in their coordination. Cullen watched Paile intently. She moved with a savage grace when she was fighting, her face a mask of concentration. She swung her sword around, the weight of it obvious yet somehow it seemed effortless as well. They killed the first group, and Cullen was startled to see a second wave approaching, the rift spawning more demons.

 

In the slight pause, Paile drew her sleeve across her brow, taking stock of her companions. She tossed a bottle to Iron Bull, who caught it and chugged the potion inside. As he tossed the bottle aside, demons once more screeched into position. Paile hefted her weapon, and again went for one of the despair demons. The creature was able to dart out of the way of a good number of her attacks, her speed slower than that of Cole’s or of Vivienne’s spells. However, Cullen watched with satisfaction, her blows were very powerful, and she knocked the demon down to the ice. With a yell, she laid into the creature, and it disintegrated. 

 

“Boss!” Iron Bull yelled out, and she spun to see what he had shouted about. Iron Bull had driven the despair demon he was focusing on towards her, the demon shooting one of the continuous ice spells into Iron Bull’s chest, and Paile saw her opportunity. She ran the distance separating her and the demon, and swung her blade up, biting into its body. It screamed, spell dissipating, and then it faded up into the rift. Vivienne and Cole had dispatched the remaining shades, and suddenly the area was clear. 

 

Cullen watched as Paile strode towards the rift, her body facing him, giving him an unobstructed view. He ran his eyes over her armor, pleased to see she showed no signs of major injury. Paile reached up with her left hand, and the Anchor exploded, a beam connecting her to the rift blasting from her palm. Paile’s face contorted in pain, and she hissed in a breath through her clenched teeth. Cullen dashed from his hiding spot, racing to her side, knowing he had to be with her. Cole’s words made sense, all of the sudden, and Cullen felt her pain as if it were his own. 

 

He skittered across the ice, unaware of the strange looks he was drawing from the other three members of the party. They dealt with this on a regular basis. He did not. Cullen slid to a halt just in front of her, her arm straining above him. With a final pull of her arm backwards and clenched hand, she broke the connection to the rift, and it exploded in a hail of sparks. Paile panted and dropped her arm, her brows still twisted down in pain. Cullen meowed continuously up at her, feeling panicked at the agony she was showing.

 

Paile dropped down to him, and wrapped her arms around his body. Cullen kept his head back, watching her face, carefully tracing the brackets of pain around her compressed mouth and narrowed eyes. “I am sorry, little Lion. I forgot to tell you of that part.” She smoothed her hands gently down his sides, as if trying to ease him. She was the one hurt, not him! “It does sting, but only for a short time. I promise I am alright.” Andraste preserve him, Cullen wanted to grab her in his arms and kiss away all her hurts. She put up with so much, never complained, hid it all where no one could see it. 

 

Cullen felt rattled and in a complete mess. His emotions reinforced everything he had known before, the intensity just as strong as it had ever been. First with his jealousy and now with his concern for her, his love was driven home to him. He hadn’t even given a thought to his own safety when he had sprinted for her side, only hers. _I vow that I will do whatever I can to protect you. I vow to be the one who you can always turn to for comfort and security. I vow that I will love you always._ Cullen swore the truths to Paile and to the Maker, feeling the ties tighten in his soul. When he got out of this predicament, he had so much time to make up for.


	18. Chapter 18

They attacked the first camp at twilight, surprising the Red Templars who were aimlessly watching their encampment. There had obviously been little to challenge them in the area, otherwise they would have been more on guard. As it was, they were able to sneak through the caverns, quietly overcoming the two on patrol. With a signal, the four fighters burst onto the scene, and Cullen took his spot behind Paile, waiting for signals. She and Iron Bull charged first into the stunned pack, drawing their attention. Vivienne wielded her magical blade, and hacked at one of the archers, before pulling back to relative safety and calling lightning down on their foes. Cole took advantage of the oncoming darkness, creeping around and jumping from the shadows with deadly precision. Paile pulled one of the corrupted knights to the side, focusing on it while the others of her inner circle whittled down the party. 

 

Cullen hunched into position, nimble on his feet. This was the type of thing they had prepared for. With whistles and commands, the two of them worked together. Cullen aiming for exposed skin, scratching and distracting while she brought her blade down in stunning blows. He knocked into the knight’s feet, making him stumble, and she brought him down to his back. Cullen descended on the hand holding its sword, attempting to make him drop the weapon. When the sword clattered to the ground, Cullen darted to Paile’s back, resuming watch.

 

A frighteningly fast Templar spun from the encroaching darkness, Red Lyrium blades swinging in the place where hands used to be. Cullen shouted out a warning to Paile, dodging from the razor of the attacks. Paile spun around, shouting for him to cover, and Cullen leaped back into the shadows. She blocked one of his attacks, wincing at the speed. When the corrupted Templar once again swung, she parried the attack, catching the thing in the crystal arm. Behind her, the fallen knight rooted around for his sword; now back up on his knees. Two bolts of lightning rained down, striking both the Templars, jolting them from their actions and sizzling along their nerve endings. Cole appeared beside the kneeling man, and his blades made a quick path into the unprotected space by the man’s neck. Paile hacked at the crystal arms, shearing one off. Her opponent cried out, but was quickly silenced. 

 

With her whistle, Cullen resumed his position, awaiting any more attacks. But their ambush had been successful, the handful of Red Templars were no more. They carefully picked their way through the bodies, examining the fallen and the layout of the camp. With the last of the light, it was a fast preview of the area.

 

Cullen looked at the misshapen body before him, and felt the hum of the lyrium vibrating through him, and was rooted in place. In the flash of a moment, he felt shivery and feverish. Thirst parched his mouth, cold poured through his limbs and settled into his bones. His head pounded with his withdrawals, muffling all sounds around him. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the glowing red of the Lyrium, watching with unwanted fascination the way the magic shifted and played deep within the recesses of the crystals. His mind spun, breath grew ragged, focus entirely on the temptation beckoning him to taste.

 

With horror, Cullen gazed at the man now encased in crystals. Had he once known this creature, back when he had been a fellow Templar? Had Cullen commanded him in battle, comforted him in fear? Told stories to pass the time or eaten beside him? The man’s helmet was encased in the lyrium, unable to be removed, permanently placing him in fight mode. The once proud armor bearing Andraste’s sword bulged and broke under the sharp edges of the internally growing formations. Had he willingly become this monster? Had it been forced on him? Somewhere beneath the madness, there was a Templar, just as he had been. The awfulness of this man’s fate hardened Cullen’s determination to never take the Red Lyrium, but the humming draw still sucked him down, made it impossible for him to pull away. 

 

Cullen fought the temptation spread before him, fought the horror. “Let’s clear it up, and set up camp,” Paile’s lilting voice sounded sluggish and muffled beneath the heartbeats pounding in his ears. Her voice gave him the strength to pull his eyes away, though, and he fixated gratefully on her, concentrating on her movements. It was almost completely dark now, but his transformed eyes saw perfectly fine in the light of the moon. Steadying his breaths, he watched as she and Iron Bull picked up bodies, moving them to the side. When they came to the one beside him, Paile gave him a quick smile and ruffled a hand between his ears before continuing her task. 

 

It wasn’t until a small fire had been started and tents set up that Cullen felt steady enough to walk. The party had spoken between themselves for a bit, quietly discussing something, but Cullen had only heard the too-fast beats of his own heartbeats. Paile sat with a sigh, rifled around in her pack and pulled out food and drink. She glanced around and noticed him sitting still in the faint flicker of light. “Lion?” She called out, reaching a hand to him. Cullen took methodical steps to her, slow and steady. 

 

Paile offered him water, and he greedily drank as much as possible. His thirst roared through him, but the water did little to assuage it. The color was all wrong, it should glow blue, but he took what was given. He meticulously ate the strips of jerky Paile offered him, not hungry, but to ease the worry he saw in her eyes. When his stomach was physically full with water and the meat, Cullen dropped with a heavy sigh, pressing against her side. He hated being pulled like this. Hated that he had to fight his body for something he knew was wrong. The pounding in his head and the tremors of his bones drained what little strength he had left, although he knew the water and food would help ease his symptoms.

 

Paile smoothed gentle fingers down his side, and Cullen fixated on the steady passes. She and the other three talked quietly, but Cullen focused on her hand, on the heat of her thigh and the warmth from the fire on his face. He wanted to sleep, to fall back into one of his trusted methods of dealing with his addiction. He knew that the nightmares would plague him, but at least the impossibly loud pull of the Red Lyrium would ease. Timing his breaths to the steady rhythm of her hand, Cullen thankfully let sleep drag him away and into oblivion.

 

***

 

Paile took first watch, aware of the exhaustion harrying everyone. Her friends were not as accustomed to riding as she was, and Lion slept heavily beside her, no doubt weary from his running. She was tired, admittedly, but she was capable of a few more hours of being awake. They had briefly talked about their options, but it had been obvious that they could not press on tonight. Tomorrow they would continue. They may lose their element of surprise, but they would be much sharper for a good rest. 

 

Walking around camp had revealed what a good starting point for their assault it was. Strategically, there were two solid trails to reach this spot, but both were narrow, not allowing a large force to descend on the camp. It had been lucky for them that the Red Templars were so unprepared for their attack. Otherwise, the fight could have taken much longer and been much more dangerous. On two thirds of the site, cliffs dropped away. They could see the continuation of the trail on the other side of one such cliff, bridge destroyed, but the valley could be scaled by their small force. They had not wanted to risk the journey in the dark, plus, Paile wasn’t sure how to get Lion up that way. 

 

At some point tonight, or in the morning at the latest, the other half of her inner circle would reach the camp. Once the connection had been made, Paile would work to get Lion and her friends across and continue to the mine. It would be easiest to wait till the bulk of the army reached them; they had prepped bridges with the knowledge of the valleys they would need to span. But waiting for the army and bridges would take too long; they must take the second camp tomorrow, not allow the Red Templars any extra time. 

 

Paile threaded her fingers in Lion’s fur, stroking down his long back and then repeating the motions. He had been out of it when they had finished their fight. His reaction had worried her, and she tried to puzzle out what he was feeling. He had been transfixed by the bodies. Did he understand that he had help take a life? Is that what was bothering him? But he was a cat; did he understand the complexities of the moral conundrum? Was a human life worth much to him, or would it rank about the same as a mouse’s? For that matter, Paile realized she had never seen Lion catch a mouse, never kill anything before. He had a warrior’s cunning and instincts, but besides fighting in the practice ring, she had never seen him unleash it in a deadly manner till today.

 

Paile roamed her eyes over the dark shadows cast by the glowing moon. The embers of the fires had died down, and her elven eyes adjusted to the light as she kept watch. She was cold, and burrowed deeper into the blanket she had wrapped around herself. Beside her, Lion stirred restlessly, his big body twitching in his dreams, little sounds yanked from his throat. Lost in her thoughts, Paile realized she had stopped stroking him, and she gently resumed her ministrations. Lion sighed, tension slowly leaving his body. He was dreaming then. Nightmares? She had never seen him so restless in his sleep before.

 

A beating sound just beyond hearing snapped her head around, searching for the source. High above her, a large body cast a shadow across the star studded sky. Heart pounding, Paile saw the huge dark shape flap massive wings in an unhurried manner. A dragon. The Archdemon? Paile licked her lips as it quickly disappeared beyond the trees, the beat of its wings more felt than heard. It had been high in the sky; perhaps too high to see them camped in the stones. For several anxious minutes, Paile waited with bated breath, half expecting it to come back. Lion once again stirred restlessly, and she mindlessly started petting him again. The dragon never reappeared, but she was on high alert for the time remaining in her watch.

 

At some point, Cole scrawled from his tent, yawning widely. Paile quietly relayed what she saw, her exhaustion sweeping over her in unavoidable waves. When she stood, Lion did not wake, so she leaned down and hoisted the large feline into her arms, wrapping the blanket around them both. She gave a quiet exhalation at his weight, shifting him around for better leverage. A sleepy meow responded to the movements, golden cat eyes blinking awake, but Lion stayed boneless in her arms. “Shh, my Lion,” Paile cuddled him close to her chest, “We are just going to sleep inside now.”

 

She ducked into her tent, and set Lion down on her pallet. She quickly shed her armor and padding, shivering in the cold, and changed into warmer night clothes. Lion sat on the blankets, swaying as he tried to stay awake. Paile smiled fondly at him, and slipped beneath the covers. She held a corner of the blanket up, inviting him to come inside. He quickly did, snuggling into the hollow of her curled body, and he brushed his kiss across her cheek, a habit that made her heart swell. They both sighed at the same time, happy for the warmth they provided each other and in relish for finally being able to rest.

 

***

 

“The Anchor is close; I can feel its power.” The tall and grotesque figure of Corypheus stood on the broken walls of Suledin Keep, looking out over the snowy mines. He watched the glow of red from deep within the rocky crevices, pulsing in the dark. How easy it had been to make willing subjects of these pitiful Southerners. “You will start our plan, as soon as you have located the sniveling pretender.”

 

A deep voice rippled melodically through the night, “As long as our agreement is still in effect, I will fulfill my part of the bargain.” Anticipation echoed through the words, horrible delight obvious.

 

Corypheus inclined his head slightly in agreement. Beside him, his massive dragon shifted and stretched his wings out in agitation, uncomfortable with the speaker's presence. With a sharp gesture, Corypheus punished his blight-corrupted servant, and the Archdemon flinched, resuming his meek position. Corypheus turned to the small form standing behind him.

 

“You will stop the elvhen, and you will break her. It will be glorious to see her kneel in subjugation as I cut the Anchor from her.” Corypheus resumed surveying his land. “ _Rattus_ should always kneel.”

 

The demon in humanoid shape smiled in delight, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “It will be my _pleasure._ ”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am giving another shot at putting these up on Tumblr. I would love it if any of you dropped me a line! I always love chatting with people, and it is a bit difficult on this site. If you have any questions, comments, or constructive criticism, it would be fun to talk!
> 
>  
> 
> [ My Tumblr! ](http://cometeclipsewriting.tumblr.com/)

It was snowing when Paile and Lion crawled from her tent. She yawned, knuckling sleep from her eyes as she stood in the early morning light. Lion shifted restlessly next to her, picking gingerly through the snow. Around her, more tents had been set up some time while she slept. Their second wave had reached their position, then. Time to continue with the push.

Working the kinks from her body, Paile marched towards the center of camp, where a small group stood talking over the fire. Iron Bull, Solas, and Varric spoke quietly. Presumably the rest were now sleeping, having traveled almost as hard as they had. When she strode up to the group, with Lion at his customary position, they shifted around to let her into the huddle, sharing the warmth of the now built up fire.

“Moonbeam! See you handily cleared a nice spot for us!” Varric welcomed her into the circle, clapping her on her arm. “And how’s the kitty working out?” Lion growled shortly to the dwarf and gave an annoyed little snap of his teeth. With a devious smile, Varric shot a hand out and ruffled the long tawny fur on the back of Lion’s neck. Lion whipped around and glared at the dwarf, only a little taller than his standing frame, as Varric pulled his hand back and up. “Ha! Got you that time Fluffy!” He crowed, laughing. Lion flashed his teeth, but it was a halfhearted gesture, and Paile knew that Lion was slightly amused by the whole thing. He calmly sat down next to Paile, rolling his shoulders so the fur lay flat once more.

Paile grinned at their antics, pleased at their playing. She was glad that some of her friends seemed to like Lion. In contrast to Varric’s teasing, Solas barely glanced down at the feline, a carefully neutral mask preventing his emotions from showing. No doubt his animosity towards Lion had not changed, but Solas had decided to tolerate the cat. Paile smiled gently to her fellow elf, thankful he would make that effort for her. “How was the journey?”

“Uneventful,” Solas replied. “We reached you a few hours ago. Scout Harding pointed us in your direction, and” Solas gestured to a couple packs sitting on the ground beside a tent, “Sent us with your belongings. We also have more potions for you.”

Paile nodded, grateful to have the extra supplies. “And our forces?”

“Are working their way here, about half a day behind us, I would say.” Solas glanced to the sky with a small frown. “This snow may hinder their passage some.”

Paile chewed her lip, concentrating on their options. Theoretically, taking the next camp at the entrance to the mines now would prevent the Red Templars from building stronger defenses there. Yet it would not affect the speed their army would reach them. If taking this camp had not tipped the Red Templars off to their presence, they would certainly know when they took the next camp. It was much too close to the keep to be overlooked. And those at the keep would then have additional time to prepare for their attack. But if they already knew they were present, then attacking the next camp now would have no further negative consequences with regards to taking the keep.

“Bull,” her decision made, she turned to her friend. “Wake the others and prepare to push on.” He uncrossed his massive uncovered arms, muscles rippling at his movements and gave a sleepy acknowledgement. The Qunari had to be loath to leave the warmth of the fire, his clothing completely unprepared for the cold of the area. Shaking her head at his stubbornness, she turned back to Solas and Varric, and relayed her orders. “We will take the next camp. When our army arrives, make sure that Cassandra and Knight-Captain Rylen have things well in hand, then come meet up with us.” She shook her head. “Either we have taken the area or we have fallen. If that is the case, you will all need to continue with the plan.”

“Bah, as if one measly batch of Red Templars could take you out,” Varric gave her a playful punch in the shoulder and Paile shook her head at his cheerfulness. 

“Just in case, Varric, just in case. I have no plans to be beaten here.” Not if Cullen was trapped within that keep, so close she could almost touch him. He needed her to keep fighting. Paile realized she was rubbing her chest piece, trying to ease the hollow ache in her heart. She dropped her hand, clenching her teeth. She couldn’t falter and fall. She just couldn’t.

A sleepy murmur pulled her gaze to where Cole emerged from his tent, his massive floppy hat already in place. No doubt Vivienne would take a little longer to get ready, but she had things that she needed to do before they left. Namely, how to get Lion up the cliff that blocked their path. The packs now waiting for her gave her an idea, though.

She crossed to their travel packs, and routed around, rearranging things. If Lion could not climb the wall, then he could be carried. They could hoist him over someone’s shoulders, but if he slid or wobbled, there was not much they could do. Carrying him in one of the travel packs, though, that would provide a secure way to get him up to the top.

A quick meal prepared by Varric provided the first hot meal they had had in two days. Although simple, they all scarfed it down eagerly, Vivienne emerging from her tent just as they were dishing out the meat and porridge. Lion meowed happily as Paile fed him little pieces of the warm meat, and he ate much of her portion. She was happy to give it to him, pleased when he finally turned away from an offering, obviously full. The poor cat had apparently been hungry, travel rations were sparse affairs for her; she couldn’t imagine that he had been pleased with it.

Paile combed her fingers through Lion’s fur, sitting next to the fire as she ate her hearty breakfast. Although she was uncertain if she was being selfish, she was so glad that Lion was here. She had dreamt last night, the dragon she had seen spurring her memories from Haven to the forefront of her mind. She had woken a few times, calming her racing heart with his solid presence. She had breathed in his warm, earthy scent, felt the silkiness of his curling fur and known that the dreams were not real. 

Paile finished her porridge and sighed, standing with one last scratch under Lion’s chin. Her three companions took her standing as a sign, and they all stood as well. Cole quickly spooned the last few mouthfuls of porridge into his mouth, dripping little chunks in the gap between bowl and mouth. She turned away quickly, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to break free. Although he was a spirit, she had seen the boys in her clan act the same way. As if they were starving and hadn’t eaten in days, shoveling food into their mouths as fast as possible. 

“Bull, I rearranged your pack to make space for Lion. I believe the easiest thing for us to do would be for you to carry him up our path.” Lion grunted at her idea, but she didn’t know if it was in protest or just responding to the sound of her voice.

“Sure thing, Boss.” Bull crossed his arms and got into a staring contest with the feline. “You aren’t going to try to attack me again, right? No hard feelings from before. It was all an accident.” Lion narrowed his eyes at the Qunari, a sharp meow his response. 

Bull flicked his gaze up to her. “Does that mean yes or no?” 

Paile laughed and shrugged. “I don’t know. But he will behave himself right now. Especially,” she looked down at her little bodyguard, “if he wants to come with us.” Lion shifted his gaze to hers. He twitched his whiskers back and forth and meowed. She wasn’t too worried. Bull could take care of himself, and Lion had never attacked anyone when not under her orders.

With an indignant expression, Lion was settled into the travel pack prepared for him, and Bull pulled it onto his back. Lion had an unobstructed view as he sat, and the hard sides of the pack would prevent him from falling out unless Bull ended up upside down at some point. With a quick sweep, Paile did a check of the area, and determined that they were all set for their next push. 

She led the way to edge of the valley that separated them from the path continuing on. With a practiced routine, Paile tied a sturdy rope around a strong rock, dropping the edge down into the valley. She tested the give, then started to repel her way down. There was about forty feet below her, and she eased her way down. She was not wholly comfortable doing this, but she had done it a few times before. When she reached the bottom and looked up, it was obvious her companions had had no experience, though. It took a little time for Cole and Vivienne to reach the bottom, but Bull took the new talent on with his typical head-on behavior. He practically jumped down the side of the cliff, swinging wildly and punching his legs into the rock while sliding his hands down the rope. Paile held her breath his entire way down, praying to the creators that the rope would hold. 

Her scale up the far side took much longer. This was a skill she had used quite a bit as a hunter, but her climbing was primarily done in forests; mostly up trees or on plant covered rocky outcroppings. The icy and snowy conditions of Emprise du Lion were tougher for her. She almost fell several times, but her strength had improved in her time in the Inquisition, and she was able to make it to the top without mishap. Panting, she tied and dropped another rope over the side. 

Bull ascended first this time, strong-arming his way quickly up, and Lion jumped from the pack as soon as he could, shaking loose his fur. Cole shimmied up secondly, and then Vivienne took some time, not as strong in her arms as they were. Still, once they reached the top, it was time to get to work. Based on the map they had, they cautiously worked their way through the maze of tunnels in the rocks. Although the Red Templars had not up to this point been as intelligent as they could have been, Paile didn’t want any surprises.

A shuffling made her signal a halt, and they all pulled back around the corner. Paile signaled for Cole to look ahead, and the spirit disappeared into the shadows created by the watery sun. A sharp cry from around the corner brought Paile rushing forward, calling for Lion to hold and hide himself. The rocks provided good coverage for now, but were too narrow for their fighting strategies to work. As soon as she rounded the corner, Paile saw two Red Templars, one stumbled back from Cole’s attack while the other was turned with his back to her. She rushed in, striking at the exposed Templar. 

They dispatched the two scouts, but not as quickly as they typically would have, trying to keep their presence quiet. Vivienne charged forward with her magical blade, avoiding the flashy display lightning provided. Cole did his normal whisper quiet routine, while Bull actually attempted to keep his battle cries to a minimum, and he mostly succeeded. When they lay at their feet, Paile called for Lion once more. He appeared from the corner instantly, and he studiously avoided looking at the bodies, walking as far from them as he could. 

They resumed their march, working their way through the rocks. It was slow work, as they only had a general area map. They had to rely on trial and error, knowing the direction they needed to be going, but not the paths to take. The slight snow that still came down was only the latest layer, and it had obstructed any footprints they could have followed. The patrol they had finished off had come from the opposite direction they wanted to go. With a chalk piece, they marked their path, preparing for the army to follow them. As they wound their way around, Red Lyrium crystals sometimes grew in the rocks, and Paile wished she had time to destroy them. But she knew that the bulk of the army would take care of them.

They back-tracked once more, then took a side tunnel. It twisted and turned, sloping ever upward, until suddenly the base of the tower they had seen in the distance appeared before them. They slowed, walking gingerly around, aware that this would be where the Red Templars would defend from. And sure enough, they could spot patrols on the walls. 

Paile motioned for everyone to halt again, and she creeped forward once more. There was a set of wooden ramps leading up a hill. Two Templars watched over the valley. An archer stood on the half broken platforms, looking down into the camp. She saw the hulking form of a behemoth in the camp, and one more figure beyond that. At least five were stationed here… and it seemed likely that there were more beyond what she could see.

She inched back, and then quietly relayed her observations. They set up their strategy, and Paile took a deep breath. She gazed down at Lion, so steady at her side. She was concerned for him, so worried, but she also felt the need to continue. She looked up at the keep, its outline vague in the distance and weak light. _Cullen, if you are in there, hold on. We are coming._

***

Cullen took his stance behind Paile, waiting for them to make their move. Paile turned to Vivienne and nodded her silvery head, purple eyes vivid with determination. Vivienne stepped from behind the rocks, and started to cast a spell. It took a moment for the watchmen on the wooden ramparts above to see her, and when they shouted out their warning, bolts of lightning hit the ground at their feet. As the two tried to dodge away, the lightning struck at them, causing them to shiver as it screamed through their systems. They froze, unable to move from the pain. Iron Bull and Paile, with Lion behind her, raced forward with a yell. Vivienne’s cage allowed them to get up to the second ramp while the two were still immobilized.

The archer up above, though, suffered no such issues, and arrows were soon shooting down on the three of them. The behemoth screamed ungodly and barreled into their path just as the two knights recovered their faculties. With a grunt, they all clashed together in a harsh cacophony of blades and shields. Paile squared off with the behemoth, maneuvering him so that he was between her and the archer. As they dealt blows to each other, Cullen kept an eye on the archer above. There actually was a second one on the other side of the tower, but nothing he could do to indicate the enemies location. Lightning crashed down from the sky at the same time two seeking spells shot into the first archer. He screamed and fell from his perch; Vivienne’s instructions to take him out apparently now done. Hopefully she would see the secondary man and work on taking him out now.

The behemoth hauled an arm down at Paile, and she dodged to the side, yelling out a command. Cullen responded immediately, going for the arm on the ground. He raked his claws down the exposed flesh, digging in with strength. The creature yelled, his focus shifting to him. Paile took the opportunity of his distraction to start up a whirlwind. The kneeling behemoth howled in pain as she struck him rapidly, and Cullen dodged away, sweeping a gaze over the battle. 

The fifth figure had been one of those fade-cursed bladed fighters, and he was currently trading stunningly fast blows with Cole. The spirit had done a few blows to the two knights, but had then left them to be handled by the Iron Bull. The Qunari knocked one down, taking a nasty cut on his exposed arm from the other. Cullen was close enough that when he spun around to return to Paile’s side, Cullen changed course slightly and thumped into the knight at Iron Bull’s back, knocking him to the ground. Ha, and Iron Bull had been afraid of him!

They were on a rise, and down below were three more Red Templars, racing up the ramp to their position. Cullen clenched his teeth and returned his attention to Paile’s fight. The behemoth shuddered through the blows, but he stood up once more, knocking Paile a striking blow that sent her scrambling backwards. She took a second to recover, long enough that the behemoth was able to land another hit to her. She shook it off, though, and drew upon that inner strength Cullen always marveled at. With the next swing, she blocked it with a yell, her blade deflecting the behemoth and swinging around at a dizzying speed. She cleaved into the behemoths side, then his shoulder, then the opposite knee. 

Cullen responded to her cries, darting in and attacking the injured leg, kicking at the seeping side wound. The behemoth slowly was whittled down, until Cullen jumped and twisted in mid-air, punching his legs backwards and connecting with the helmet. The creature slumped down onto his bad knee, then keeled over. Paile brought her sword down in one final blow, severing the head from the neck. With no hesitation, she swung around to assist her companions, and Cullen ran behind her. 

Cole was darting backwards, avoiding the attempted attentions of two of the reinforcements. The third had gone over to Iron Bull, stepping over the body of one of the knights. Vivienne was still down below, apparently she had not seen the archer yet, and she focused on the two fighting with the Qunari. Blasts of spells hit the Templars, and streaks of lightning rained down on them. Whenever one of them attempted to turn to go confront her, Iron Bull would make his presence known in a harsh way. Cullen saw the shattered remains of potions on the ground, Iron Bull must have been taking a beating from the attention focused on him. 

Paile shot forward, chugging down a potion of her own. When she swallowed the last of it, she sent a command out to him, and he shot forward, using his momentum and weight to knock into the back of the secondary knight attacking Cole. The knight stumbled forward, almost falling to his knees. Paile went for the other one, allowing Cole to step away, to get the Templar to focus on her. Both red-eyed fighters rounded on her, taking up flanking positions. Paile called for him to stand back, and Cullen almost disobeyed her orders, so tempted to charge in recklessly. 

He growled and dropped low behind a sheaf of rocks, focus on the two surrounding her. She moved carefully, lining them up, then unleashed her earthshaking strike. The attack rippled through the two of them, arching them back violently. Cole appeared, and sank his blades into the back of the closest Templar, giving him no time to recover, and then was gone again. Paile rushed forward, delivering and taking blows, while Cole danced around them, widening cuts and adding more punctures. Shortly, the both were dead. 

An arrow whistled by Cole’s head, so close that his hat ruffled in the wind of its passing. “Vivienne! Archer!” Paile yelled down to the mage, pointing to where the bowman stood. The two of them took cover as the arrows began pelting their way. Vivienne ran up the ramparts, and then took deadly aim, shooting spell after spell, slamming her staff to the ground and eruptions appeared beneath the archer’s feet. Iron Bull dispatched his last enemy just as Vivienne shot a triple succession of shots. They all watched tensely as the blows hit the archer, and he fell back silently, dead before he hit the ground. 

Cullen stood and carefully ran to Paile’s side, pressing against her prone and panting body. He ran his eyes over her body, noting her winces. She was injured again, and she carefully removed a potion, drinking most of it. She silent offered the last to him, but he didn’t need any. He nudged her hand, worried that of the massive amount of blood on her, too much of it was her own. Iron Bull came over, dropping back gratefully against the rock wall, sipping from his own potion. Cole and Vivienne scanned the surroundings, making sure no one snuck up on the tired group. But they had done it. They had taken the second camp. Now, to defend it while they waited for their army to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a boring chapter, but I have to work up to the big stuff!


	20. Chapter 20

Their army arrived the next morning. Paile stood on the ramparts with her hands clasped behind her back, standing straight and confident. Before her, she watched the builders finish putting the last touches on the makeshift bridge. It wasn’t pretty, but it would be sturdy enough for their purposes, she had been told. Underneath her confident stance, she felt her stomach flop. It was time. 

What did she know of taking castles? She was just a Dalish elf, a common hunter, shoved into these insane circumstances. If only Commander Cullen were leading; he would know what to do. _Please let him be here. Unhurt in mind and body._ Paile had slept restlessly, dreams a confusing clash of fighting, Archdemons, and of Cullen, crystallized like Fiona had been in the twisted future she and Dorian had traveled to. He had brokenly asked her why she hadn’t saved him, railed at her for being too late, or, the worst, just stared at her with red eyes that had had no comprehension or recognition. Every time she had awoken, shaking, Lion had been there, purring gently and rubbing his face along hers. She felt bad she had kept waking him up, but so grateful he had been there. In her fear she thought she had kept repeating ‘thank you’ to him over and over again. Her mind had been so scattered, she wasn’t sure what she had said. Poor Lion, though. He really couldn’t have gotten much sleep either.

She glanced down at Lion, sitting at her side. He was just as focused as her, eyes narrowed at the construction, calculation shining from those golden eyes. She looked back up, and took a deep breath. If he could do it, so could she. Setting a hand on his fur, Paile felt a slow spread of control roll through her insides, calming her, focusing her. She needed to put aside Paile; become the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, something bigger than just herself. It was no longer time for doubts. Her irrational worries were pushed to the back of her mind, and the strategies for the battle discussed came to the forefront. 

Paile pivoted, and looked down over the tents in the little valley. Inquisition soldiers were scurrying about, preparing for the fight ahead. Everyone knew it would not be long now. “Seeker Cassandra, Knight-Captain Rylen,” Paile spoke formally, drawing the attention of the two as they had been bent over maps. They straightened, and came to her side. She saw their expressions; they knew what she was going to say. “Prepare for to attack.”

They bowed to her, turned, and instantly began barking orders. Captains and Lieutenants rushed away, shouting to their next in commands. The burst of activity caught the soldier’s attention below, and they all looked up; all looked to her. The loud, deep rumble of the Inquisition horn bellowed into the sky, sounding the signal. A roaring cheer rose from the crowd, echoed through the valley, and Paile felt it down to her bones. She stood silhouetted against the sky, proud and strong, armored for war, with Lion’s imposing presence at her side. She supposed she looked every inch the symbol the Inquisition needed. She felt a wry laugh bubble up within her. No doubt Josephine and Leliana would be very proud.

***

As soon as the builders gave their go-ahead, the first wave of fighters crossed the bridge, carrying blockades to set up before they worked on the gate of the keep, and ladders to scale the walls. Skirmishers went with them, preparing for any enemies they found on their way. Paile did a once over of her gear, double checked her armor and her supplies. She heard Cole, Vivienne, and Bull come up behind her, and turned to gauge their reactions. Bull was restless, agitated for the fight. Vivienne was calm and collected, deadly intent shining from her eyes. And Cole was a blank slate, no emotions revealed on his face or in his stance. They were ready.

They strode down the ramps, heading to the second wave that waited there. As she went, Paile knew that Lion would not falter from her side, prowling with a lethal grace. The men saluted as she strode by, taking her place at the head of the battalion. She ran her eyes over the rows of orderly soldiers and the heavy weight of the battering ram between them. No one looked too nervous or scared, somehow they all believed strongly in their mission. Paile wondered slightly at it all, shocked that she could be in charge of such a force. But she banished the emotion; it was not relevant to right now. 

They waited, constant preparation rushing around her, for almost an hour. Filtering to them, the sound of steel clashing, of screams, shouts, and the occasional roar told them that Suledin Keep was being defended, and that they had been right to take this assault as a serious threat. Suddenly, above the tops of the trees two blue sparks followed by a purple burst into the air. Licking her lips, Paile raised her sword, and pointed it forward. “That’s our sign! To the castle!” Another cheer raced through the soldiers, raising the hairs on the back of her neck at the sheer presence they gave off. With a heave, a contingent hoisted the battering ram while all others filled in around them, and they started forward.

As they marched across the bridge and through the ruins of the village, the sound of fighting got stronger. They could see the muddy snow from where feet had churned up the ground, bodies of Red Templars that had been dispatched already. Their Scouts, most likely. They followed the foot prints through the trees, and wound their way up the hill. An opening widened before the gate, and they could finally see the fighting taking place. In the large clearing, the first Inquisitions soldiers clashed with the Red Templars. Their purpose: to thin the numbers so that they could get the battering ram to the doors of the keep. High up on the walls, archers rained arrows down on the forces, seemly uncaring if they hit friend or foe. Backed against the trees and behind the wooden blockades, Inquisition mages and archers focused their attention on the enemies on the walls, occasionally those on the field. A few ladders were in place, but none had reached the top; bodies lay crumpled at the bases. 

The fighting in the middle of the field was heaviest. Large behemoths dotted the landscape, red crystals sprouting from everywhere, while others were a whirl of speed with Red Lyrium daggers. Three massive giants kicked and clubbed at the soldiers at their feet, twice as tall as all around them, occasionally letting out howls of pain or aggression. Their forces were holding their own, but it was obvious that they needed to bolster their numbers. With a yelled command, Paile sent the fighting half forward, and they charged, pushing through. They hacked and cleaved a path, forcing their way up the center of the field, the gate their destination. With the fresh wave of reinforcements, the Red Templars were pushed back and to the side, allowing those who held the battering ram to creep up to the sturdy gate.

“Inquisitor!” A man pushed to her side, slicing at one of the foes they fought, armor splattered with blood. Michel de Chevin shouted over the sounds of battle “Imshael has dispatched a pack of shades upon Sahrnia! The people are defenseless! I must return without delay.” 

Finishing her swing and killing the red eyed knight in front of her, Paile pivoted to face him. “I understand. We will destroy Imshael. Lieutenant!” She beckoned to one of her men, relaying orders as he rushed to her side. “Take your squad and follow Michel de Chevin to the village. Protect the people as best you can. Hurry!” The man snapped a salute, and then began shouting orders to the men behind him.

“Thank you, Inquisitor! I will not forget this,” the Chevalier turned, and the group disappeared back into the fighting. 

For a time, Paile’s sole focus was the enemy right before her, replaced them quickly when they fell. The battle was confusing: bloody and loud and dangerous. Although there was not much room for maneuvering, she gave commands to Lion, having him dart in and out of limbs, biting and slashing. Vivienne, Bull, and Cole kept others back a bit, allowing for them to have some operating room, but their position at the head of the battering ram pushed them into the heaviest of the fighting. Cries of the dying rose up to the brilliant blue sky, the Creators and Maker uncaring to the prayers screamed to them. Paile felt them all in her chest. All she could do was fight, though; provide a strong leadership for the men to follow, a symbol for hope. 

In the haze, Paile saw that they were within distance of the entrance. “Vivienne! The signal!” The mage spun around, sending a powerful blast at an archer above them, one who had been aiming down at Paile. With a scream, the archer fell, crashing beside the massive doors of the keep. In a smooth movement, Vivienne finished her spin, and slammed the butt of her staff to the ground three times. Each time she did, sparks shot into the sky, blasting into three purple fireworks. The signal for the third and final wave to join the fray. 

Paile shouted to the men holding the battering ram, fighting off those who would hack at their sides. With a shout and a surge, they rushed forward, bringing the steel reinforced end of the huge log into the seam of the doors. Paile heard the wood groan, but did not turn her attention to watch. Across the field, she saw one of the giants fall, keening out a death rattle. The other two looked battered and bloody, and she felt a cold satisfaction. Their soldiers were well trained and fearless. She wished Cullen were here to see his men; she knew that he would be proud of them.

The loud impacts of the battering ram rang out over the field, and the increasingly loud creaks and groans from the door told of its eventual demise. With another roar, across the field, Cassandra led the last charge, and Paile saw her other friends, all rushing forward eagerly to join the skirmish. Once the door was down, most of the third wave would push into the castle, routing the Red Templars where they had dug in. Paile and her party, however, had a different path. A more malevolent target.

A loud splintering sound override all the noise on the battlefield. As one, all the Inquisition forces seemed to hold their breath, as the massive battering ram swung forward once more. The doors to Suledin Keep shattered apart, breaking open a passage way inside. A cry rang up from those still standing, fervor rekindled. As the soldiers who were holding the battering ram backed up and to the side, Cassandra rushed forward, sword and shield at the ready. They met gazes, Cassandra nodding to her once, an acknowledgement and question both. Paile returned the nod, weary but ready for the next step. They still had a ways to go before they could claim they had won the battle.

As the third party moved into the keep, Bull gave a strangled yell, and Paile spun, sword at the ready. An arrow had hit Bull’s shoulder, sticking into the meaty part of his back. He snarled and spun, looking up at the wall. A smirking Red Templar archer, cocked another arrow and aimed down at the Qunari. As he drew the bow back, however, a massive blast of fire hit him in the chest. The Red Templar screamed, patting at his burning skin and panicking. The man fell backwards, over the side of the wall into the castle. Paile spun, and saw Dorian, rushing towards Bull. That had been one of his spells.

Paile turned away, fighting once more. But she kept one eye on the two, worried for Bull. Vivienne and Cole created a barrier around the two men, creating some space, while Dorian coaxed Bull to lower himself. When he could, Dorian grasped the arrow, and sent a stream of power down it, into Bull’s shoulder. Paile turned away once more, but a holler of pain announced the removal of the offending article. Paile called for Lion to knock into the man she was fighting, and when he complied and the knight was on the ground, she brought her sword down in a killing blow. That finished, Paile jogged over to the Bull’s side, to assess the damage done. 

“Of course you got shot by an arrow!” Dorian practically shouted at the Qunari. “You are as big as a dragon and are wearing no armor! I am surprised you aren’t riddled with them.” He had his hands placed on either side of the wound gently, spells weaving into the severed muscle there. Paile could hear his panic beneath the anger, knew Dorian was putting up a front, trying to keep his mien of sarcastic suavity in place. 

Bull’s face contorted in pain, teeth clenched. “You didn’t seem to mind my lack of armor last week. Any of the three times! And you _like_ my size,” Bull finished with a raunchy look, slightly spoiled by the pain still in his eyes.

Dorian’s face went bright red behind his impeccable mustache. “Digression isn’t really your thing, is it?” He sighed and pulled his hands away, fingers lingering tenderly on Bull’s skin. “There you go, you great lummox. Don’t get yourself killed.”

Paile watched the banter between the two, fascinated. When had that happened? HOW had that happened? A roar across the battlefield snapped her attention away, announcing the death of a second giant. As interesting as this new personal development was, now was not the time. Lion yowled loudly, and most everyone snapped back into focus. Dorian looked worriedly at Bull for a moment, before Bull gave him his standard cocky grin. Dorian shook his head, furrowed brow not smoothing, but he ran to catch up with those slipping through the gates. Once Dorian’s back was turned, Bull’s face fell into one of apprehension, watching the handsome mage disappear inside.

“Bull, take a potion. We don’t know what we will find inside.” Paile reached down a hand, and helped him stand once more, breaking him from his uncharacteristic reverie. “I need you at your best.” With a groan, Bull reached into his pouch and pulled out a bottle that looked tiny in his hand.

“Sure thing, Boss.” He drained the contents of the bottle, and then sent it sailing through the air. It smacked into the back of a Red Templar’s helmet, making a ringing sound as it connected with the metal and shattered everywhere. With a snarl, the man turned, glowing eyes narrowed in hate. He focused on Iron Bull, who chuckled and gave a little wave. The Templars distraction allowed the Inquisition soldier he had been fighting to sink his blade into the Templars spine, and the partially crystalized man screamed in agony, falling slowly to the ground in death. Bull’s chuckle transformed into a rolling laugh, his battle spirit returned, and he gave the soldier a salute. Beaming, the man saluted back, then turned back into the fray.

Paile’s lips quirked a little at the show; pleased that Bull was feeling better. They still had a long way to go, though. Standing in the relative calm of the door’s archway, she took stock of the battle field. Inside the keep, sounds of fighting began, the third wave having encountered forces that had been waiting for such an eventuality. Up on the walls, Inquisition soldiers were finishing up the archers, the support from their long range fighters giving them the cover they needed to scale the ladders. There was still fighting going on in the field, but it had died down, their forces obviously outmatching those remaining. Of those able, some were lending hands to the wounded, or carrying those who could no longer move, while the rest narrowed in on the remaining enemy. The ground was a churned mess, covered with all manner of things she didn’t look too closely at. 

She looked at her three friends, bloody and panting, but not beaten. Lion rubbed on her knee, and she ran a critical eye over her little bodyguard. His long tawny and white fur was now matted and stained red and brown, but he did not seem to be injured. With an inward sigh of relief, she turned to the gates. “Come, it’s time. We need to find this Imshael before he makes any other bargains. Maybe, if we are lucky, we will find Corypheus too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2 of the fight for Suledin Keep! I wanted to get it all in one chapter, but I wouldn't have been able to finish writing it all last night. Maybe later I will combine them. And Ooop! There goes Dorian and Bull, lol! Love them <3


	21. Chapter 21

Their small group passed through the splintered remains of Suledin Keep’s gate, on the alert for what lay beyond. They passed through a stone corridor, and into a courtyard. Inside, she could see the original structure was crumbling, trees pushing through the stonework and clumps of Red Lyrium growing around. They would have to do serious clean up if they were able to take the keep. She wanted every speck of the creepy stuff gone. As they cautiously made their way forward, Paile eyed the large crystal forming, wondering if it had been formed from some poor hapless Templar’s body. Why they had allowed this whole thing to start, she didn’t understand.

Cassandra, her other friends, and the third wave of soldiers spread before them, drawing attention and fighting the main bulk. Their purpose was to be loud and aggressive, doing a massive push through the keep, hopefully whittling down at the number of Red Templars still defending, while their little team went in search of those in charge. They hadn’t wanted to take on Imshael with a large group; more chances for the desire demon to affect those who had been untested against such temptations. 

Inquisition scouts had not been able to breech the walls of this castle, so they were going in blind, unsure of the layout. But Solas’s knowledge of ancient ruins came into use. He had described that most elvhan castles had two routes to reach the strongholds. A main route, one that was impressive and grand, with places to offer tribute, and a secondary route, that slipped past most of the lavish affairs, but was small and winding. While the main bulk of their army would push up the obvious central way, Paile and her four companions would slip around to the side, hopefully bypassing most of the enemy and reaching the heart of the keep before them. But they needed to find the secondary path first.

Like they had predicted, there was a secondary force of Red Templars waiting for them just inside, in case the Inquisition ever breached the gates. While their forces battled against that horde, Paile skirted along the edge, searching for signs of the suspected detour. They raced up a set of stairs, providing quick assistance if they saw an opportunity. Cole darted through the crowd, digging daggers into exposed flesh. Vivienne would rain lightning down every chance she could. Paile and Bull struck against backs, knocking down those with an appropriate opening, Lion staying on her flank, darting out with his sharp claws when she called. They kept their involvement to a minimum though, their goal speed more than damage. Finally, Paile saw a set of stairs to the side, a smaller entrance than those they had climbed before. 

She turned, beckoning to their destination set to the side. They shifted their course, running up and into the bramble of bushes and stone, leaving the main fight behind them. Through the snow they jogged, following the twisting path. It was narrow, only about ten feet wide, but it opened after a few turns, revealing cages. A cry from those locked inside rose up, people standing and straining against the bars. Paile felt her heart leap into her throat. This is where they kept prisoners. Cullen could be here. Three Red Templars guarded those locked away, and at their approach, rushed to greet them.

The Red Templar with a shield bore down on them, and Paile pounded away at him, alternating taking blows with Iron Bull. Three enemies was no concern, and they fell into their fighting habits, ones they had performed repeatedly before. This time, though, Paile sent Lion out; having him attack the knight who hammered against her while she struck against the man with the shield. Lion did perfectly, despite the fact that he was attacking someone who was not the focus of her attacks, something they had not trained for. He learned incredibly fast. Vivienne and Cole picked off the third one, and then the knight. Despite the Red Templar’s aggression, they fell quickly to their experience. 

When The Iron Bull delivered the finishing blow, Paile raced over to the cages. Those trapped inside all spoke at once, pleads and gratitude and hysteria overriding any other nose. There must have been about fifty individuals locked in three cages, crammed together. A flash of golden hair made her heart jump, and she moved around the first cage to the second, desperate to see if it was him. A turned head revealed pointed ears peeking through the smooth strands, and she felt her emotions crash. It was an elf; not her Commander. She scanned those she could see, looking for him. But she couldn’t find the man; perhaps he was in another area. With a short little exhalation, Paile pushed through the pain, bringing her mask back into place. 

“Listen everyone!” Paile shouted over the noise, and they quieted beneath the authority of her voice. “There is fighting going on, just back that way, and outside the castle. I will open your locks, but I would advise you to stay here until the fighting has subsided! Don’t go rushing into danger unarmed.” Several heads nodded eagerly, but others still seemed frantic, out of rational thought. Praying that she made the right decision, she turned to Cole. “Can you open them?”

He knelt to the first lock, picking at the devise until it clicked open, then continued to the next. While he was doing that, Paile strode further down the bank of cages, looking around. Inside one, the destroyed remains of a giant lay littered across the ground, body seemingly burst apart. Confused, Paile turned to the cage beside it, at those who still waited inside. A woman watched with wide eyes, awe on her face, gaze flicking from her to the massive cat at her side. Although she had seen this look before, Paile couldn’t imagine they made a welcoming sight. She was covered in blood and gore and Lion was the same plus copious amounts of mud. They probably looked about as disgusting as a person could get. “Tell me, what were they doing here?”

“Testing, my lady. On the giants. They were trying to infect them with the red crystals.” The woman spoke shakily, her face pinched in disgust and horror. It had obviously been a terrible sight to see. “They succeeded with some too.” 

“Lovely,” Paile muttered under her breath. “Do you know of any other captives they may have, people from outside Emprise du Lion? Maybe locked away somewhere else?”

“No, my lady. We are all from Sahrnia and outlying farms.” The woman shook her head emphatically. “I don’t know of any others.”

“Thank you,” Paile murmured, hope dying slowly, leaving her cold. Turning again, she watched as Cole dropped the last lock. She was grimly satisfied to note that although the captives had all rushed from their cages, they had in turn huddled to the side, not racing into the battle below them. “We must keep going,” she spoke to them, “But if we are successful, I will return to make sure you are safe.” Paile then strode off, hating that she had to leave them so unprotected. _Take the keep,_ she told herself, _and then they will be safe._

The day had progressed, and it was sometime in the late afternoon. They only had a few hours left before night fell, and their jobs would be much more difficult during the darkened hours. They really needed to try to take the keep while they still held the light. They pressed on, slipping through a crumbled wall that at one point must have held a door. They sped along a tree lined pathway, long dead branches littering the ground, dodging wayward ruins and shrubs. They could hear the fighting still going on somewhere in the keep, echoes bouncing off walls, distorting the sounds. She couldn’t tell where the noise was coming from in relation to where they currently where, but they pressed on, hoping this was the correct path.

A sharp turn revealed a sight that sent fear skittering down her spine. A giant lumbered in the pathway, head amongst the branches of trees, a pulsing red glow signaling his infection. Around its massive feet, five heavily armed Red Templars kept guard, with shields, swords, and bows at the ready. Her party all skidded to a halt, breathing heavily. The giant spun and caught sight of them, letting out a roar that shook down to her bones. With heavy steps, the giant started for them, his glowing red eyes pinpointed to their group. “I will keep the giant focused on me,” Paile commanded, wishing she couldn’t hear the waver in her words. “Everyone else, work on the others.” Paile steadied herself, waiting for the giant to outrun the men now chasing after him. “Lion! You will stay clear. Cover!” 

Praying the feline obeyed her, she charged with a yell. Her feline was outmatched; their methods of fighting would be useless against the towering creature with such thick skin. The giant bellowed as he rushed towards her, then gathered his legs beneath him and leaped in the air. In the split second, Paile halted and braced for the impact. This was going to hurt. 

The giant slammed his weight down on her, crushing her onto her back, his fists biting into the edge of her blade. He screamed at the cuts, his momentum and power working to her favor. While the creature reacted to his injuries, Paile stood; forcing her lungs to work after the air had been knocked from her. She felt pain radiating from her side, and she bit back the cry that tried to work from her throat. Her ribs crackled with each harsh gasp, and she felt the warmth of her blood leak down her leg. Fishing around in her belt, she pulled a bottle out, chugging the contents quickly. With the liquid, she felt the magic seeping through her system, tying wounds together, dulling the pain. Each gasping breath she took no longer sent sparks shooting along her system, so she pushed through the sting. 

The Red Templars clashed with her friends around her, as she slammed her sword against the giant’s side. He recovered quickly, bringing his hands down in blows that she dodged if she could, or took with clenched teeth if she couldn’t react in time. Gradually, she pulled him back, away from her sparing friends. She couldn’t spare a moment to see how they were doing; she was utterly focused on the glowing monster. The giant reached down to the ground, offering a slender chance for a particularly damaging blow to his shoulders and neck. Paile swung hard at the area, relieved when she cut into his flesh. It didn’t stop him though. He heaved upwards, lifting an immense stone into the air. Paile’s eyes widened, shocked. That rock couldn’t hit her, it would crumple her armor, pin her down. With a strangled cry, she dove out of the way, feeling the visceral whoosh as the boulder sailed past her. 

Furiously, she scrambled back around, training her eyes on the giant again. He ran forward a few more steps, another stone in his sights. Paile pushed herself upright, charging him. She didn’t think she could keep dodging the rocks; she had to take him out before she found out if she was right. She hacked at the creature’s back, bellows raging at the hits, but they didn’t slow him down. The giant stood again, hefting the stone up, evil red eyes trained on her. 

From the branches above, Lion burst from the leaves, snarling and yelling. His claws extended, he shot out, his aim true. He dropped onto the giant’s head, claws digging into the tender flesh of his face. He slashed with his razor sharp weapons, aiming for beady eyes. Paile froze in shock. The giant screamed in pain, teetering on his feet, losing his grasp on the hoisted boulder. Lion flashed his claws out, again and again, swiping at the eyes. The giant dropped the stone, the thud reverberating through her metal boots. He brought his hands up, flailing at his bleeding face. Lion dodged the frantic waves, constant snarls baring his fangs. 

One of the giants hands struck true, and Lion flew backwards into the air. “Lion!” Paile screamed, following her uncontrollable instinct and rushing to her best friend’s aid. As she kept her eyes glued on the airborne cat, he twisted, contorting his body as he fell. Lion landed on all four feet, graceful and dangerous. He shot her a glare, stopping her in her tracks with his disapproval, meowing at her sharply before turning his warriors gaze back to the enemy. He was right, it was not the time for heedless actions, and Paile turned her now livid attention to the giant screaming in pain. No more little nice elf. The giant was dead.

Screaming, Paile shot forward, whirling around the giant. She rained blows down on the giant’s knees, slicing through skin and muscle. She shook off little irritations, attacks from unheeded enemies around her. Blinded, the giant reacted as best he could, kicking and batting at where she had been. She was already gone though, spinning around him in a whirlwind. Occasionally he would get in a lucky hit, but Paile ignored it, dominating the fight. First it was one knee, then a hamstring, then the back of a thigh. The giant screamed and dropped to his knees, hands braced in the snow. Bursting out commands, she sent Lion into the fight, the two of them working on the available points of weakness. In a final scream, Paile brought her blade down hard, just as Lion punched into the giant’s ugly face with powerful back legs, pushing the monster’s throat into perfect position for the cut. With a gurgle, the giant’s arms slipped wide, and he fell the rest of the way, collapsing into the red snow.

Panting, the rage still boiling in her system, Paile watched the giant; just to be sure he was dead. She vaguely heard words spoken to her, the tone rapid and frantic. The creature should never have messed with one of the two beings she loved. The irritating buzz of noise around her continued, but it was the muffled meows that she perceived first. Finally, one broke through completely, sharp and commanding. Paile finally blinked her eyes, dragging them away from the body. Lion had his paws up on her stomach, golden gaze intent on her face. He was not taking no for an answer, bring her back to herself. With a sudden rush, she felt weak and wobbled. Pain bloomed, feeling more blood flowing from cuts she didn’t remember getting. Large hands steadied her, slowly brought her down.

“Easy boss,” Bull carefully brought her down, speaking to her soothingly. “We’re just going to sit you down right here.” Vivienne crouched at her side, a spell already gathered in her hands. As soon as she sat, Paile leaned back against Bull’s chest, dizzy. The two of them quickly ran their hands over her armor and sides, cataloging her injuries. Vivienne’s spell tingled over her skin, easing some of the pain. Woozy, her head lolled to the side, she focused her pale purple eyes on Lion.

“You aren’t hurt? You’re okay?” She offered a hand to him, eager to make he was alright. Lion instantly put his head into her palm, meowing constantly. He looked worried, but not in pain. She smiled weakly, lashes fluttering closed in relief. “That’s good. That’s… really good.”

Something was pressed into her hand, and she opened her eyes. Cole crouched next to Lion, handing her a potion, worry stamped all over the boy’s face. Gratefully, she chugged down the liquid, the effects of both Vivienne’s spell and the potion sweeping through her body. After a minute she felt better, her dizziness subsiding. “Thank you everyone. I will be alright.” She pushed herself more upright, and Bull stood, reaching down a hand to help her stand.

Breathing easier, she stood, groaning at the ache spreading through her body. The spells and potions did wonders, but she was going to be recovering from this for a while. And they still had to find Imshael and Corypheus. Looking around, Paile saw the remnants of the fight. The five Templars had been dispatched, no other threats present. “Damn Boss,” Bull’s gruff voice brought her attention around. He gaped at the giant, admiration and respect heavy in his voice, “Remind me never to tangle with you and Lion.” He shot the feline his customary smile. “You two make a good team.” 

Paile felt a little uncomfortable at the words, and shrugged through them, giving Lion a crooked little smile. “I think we do.” Turning away and taking a few testing steps, she spun, seeing if her balance held. It did. She tuned back into the muffled fighting, the armies still clashing in the castle. “How many potions do we have left?” 

“Three.” Cole answered, and Paile frowned. That wasn’t very much; they would need to use them sparingly. She spent a few precious minutes letting the potion and spell work its way through her body, catching her breath. They needed to push on.

“Alright,” she said with a sigh, “Let’s go.” She held up a hand to halt the protest she saw on her friends lips. “No. I am fine, and we need to keep to our plan. We can’t let our army continue without us. Imagine what Varric would say if he found us just standing around, griping about a few injuries.” Paile impishly grinned at them and Bull groaning at the image her words conjured. Grumbling, they started forward once more, though they watched her carefully. 

Their back route lead them through more outside courtyard, and Paile wondered how much castle there actually was in the walled in keep. They finally reached a building, filled with supplies and documents. Making a note to come back and read them, they moved through, heading for the stairs that marched upwards. Taking them stealthily, they reached outdoors, again. _Elves certainly built this place,_ Paile thought, shaking her head. A riddled and broken courtyard spread before them, and across the expanse and up to the side a glow of red signaled a large amount of crystals in the next room. They passed cautiously, noting bodies of Red Templars lying in the snow. They looked as if they had been dead a few days now, not from their attack of the keep.

They stole through the courtyard, and followed the path up and through a grand archway. The top and heart of the castle spread before them, obviously where her people had once stood with power and in leadership. A man stood alone in the center of the room, cool and collected, watching their approach with glee. “Ah, the hero arrives,” he spoke, “But is it hero or murderer? It’s so hard to tell.”

His words bit into Paile’s fears. She wondered herself sometimes. And after her rage with the giant, she felt it keenly, worried at the darkness the rage revealed. Were they wrong, just looking for an excuse to fight? Did these corrupted Templars have a choice in their downfall? Could they have been saved, and she instead just executed them as they fought under orders, perhaps against their will? “You’re the demon called Imshael.” Vivienne spoke, disgust in her words.

“Ahem, choice spirit!” He crossed his human arms in annoyance.

“Time to die!” Bull said, palming his axe and taking a step forward.

“Wait, wait, wait!” The demon spoke, turning back to Paile. “These are your friends? They are very violent,” he sneered. Lion growled at her side. “True to my name, I will offer you a choice. It doesn’t always have to end in blood.”

Paile knew his words would be a trick, but she was curious. Hoped that maybe she could get him to reveal some answers about several questions they had. “Talk.”

“Oh, you really shouldn’t talk to these things, Darling.” Vivienne interjected.

The demon sniffed at that, “You let me live, and I will shower you with power. Riches? Virgins?” A sly grin spread across his face. “Or perhaps information?” The knot in Paile’s stomach jerked. The demon did know something, and knew she wanted what he had. “Then we all live happily ever after.” He paused for a second, then gave a short laugh, “Well, not all of us. But who’s counting?”

Paile licked her lips, hesitating for a moment. The demon narrowed its eyes on her. “I could tell you, you know.” Paile jerked her gaze up to his, going razor tight, somehow knowing what he would say next. “I could tell you where he is.” 

Around her, her friends tensed as well, the significance of his words not lost on them. Paile felt dizzy again, this time from temptation and the agony of saying no. Oh Creators, they could find him today. Could finally have some word on where Cullen was, to have a direction to look for him. If they found him, she could finally talk to him, get over her nerves and tell him how she felt. But no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t. She couldn’t let the demon out into the world; sic him on those who were unprepared for what he really was. Lion growled at her side, bristling at the demon standing there so smugly. “No.” she whispered, then spoke more strongly. “No. You die demon.”

“Oh, for the love of… Choice. Spirit.” He said in annoyance, and vanished into thin air. He reappeared, body morphed into one that she had never seen before. Spider arms ripped from his back, form now tall and hovering. Large spiders raced to them from across the ruined courtyard. Paile advanced to attack, and a green crackle of magic bloomed from Imshael’s back. She felt an answering pain in her hand, the Anchor reacting to the presence of the Fade magic. With a shout, she held her palm out, letting the magic rip out her palm. A large glowing ball flew into the air, and it twisted rapidly, tendrils whipping around the battle field. It sucked at Imshael, and when the spiders reached its influence, it pulled from them too. They slowed, anger vibrating from the demon’s throat as its vitality was sucked from him.

“Lion, spider!” Paile shouted, directing Lion as she descended on Imshael. She saw Cole dart forward, sinking his blades into the body of one of the arachnids, killing it with the help of her mark. Lion wrestled one of the others to the ground. Shouts from the other side of the courtyard announced the arrival of more enemies, and Bull raced off to engage the Red Templars who joined the fray. As Paile attacked the slowed demon, Vivienne shot powerful spells at him, occasionally calling lightning down on the heads of their foes. 

Although powerful, her spell did not last forever, and it evaporated. Imshael grinned in evil delight, and the spider arms darted forward, impaling into her. Most knocked against her armor, but some punctured her, adding to her wounds. As she spun to deliver an attack, she saw Lion at her back, finished with the minion. With her command, he ran for Imshael, sinking his teeth into one of the spindly arms as she brought her blade down, severing two on his other side. Imshael screamed, and shot a bolt of magic into her chest.

Paile stumbled back, knocked hard by the blast. But Iron Bull rushed in, taking her spot. With the slight reprieve, Paile saw that no other enemies were in the courtyard, and she dashed up to Bull’s side, working the demon between the two of them. They cleaved through his extra arms, taking the power he gathered there. The demon screamed again, and dropped to the ground, disintegrating. Paile stopped, surprised. They had killed him already? That was too easy.

An evil laugh reverberated around the stones, and suddenly a fiery figure burst from the ground, pushing her and Bull back. “Cover!” Paile shouted, and Lion darted away. He would just burn himself against the rage demon. Imshael let out a burst of fire, singeing at the leather and cloth of her armor. A clawed hand swiped out, and they started back up again, beating at the demon. Unlucky for him, they had had more than a little practice at killing rage demons from all their rift work.

Imshael sent out a stream of fire, and Cole’s trajectory sent him right into the path of the sudden flames. He screamed and dropped back, the cloth of his attire catching on fire. “Cole!” Paile shouted, seeing him pat at the burning material, exposed flesh red and scorched. She ran to his side, strapping her sword across her back, leaving Iron Bull to focus on Imshael for the moment. Paile reached down for her last bottle of potion, and caught the boy against her body. He was out of his mind in pain, thrashing at her, doing nothing for himself. A spell of ice weaved around his body, catching her in its grip as well. It was weak, barely enough to hurt, but it doused the flames still smoldering on Cole. Vivienne.

Ripping the boy’s hat from his head, Paile pushed the bottle to his lips. For a second he was still out of it, but the first splash of liquid into his mouth sharpened his eyes, and he grabbed the bottle, eagerly drinking down the contents. Instantly, his skin started to lighten, his burns healing. Paile breathed out a sigh of relief, and took a split second to make sure he was okay. His watery eyes met hers, and he nodded through the pain he had to be in. 

She drew her sword and turned to the fighting once more, catching Imshael change forms into the large armored pride demon. _Creators,_ Paile thought as she sprinted forward, _would he go through all of the demon types?_ Imshael laughed again, hauntingly, lightning arching between his splayed hands. He didn’t even seem to notice the heavy blows Iron Bull smacked against his side. Vivienne changed tactics, no longer attacking with lightning, and she came in close to attack his thick hide with her conjured blade. 

Paile joined the two, trying to dodge the hits that Imshael threw out. He conjured a lightning whip, lashing out and hitting all three of them. Paile cried out in pain, feeling the lightning rip through her body, opening barely healed cuts. He roared in approval and repeated the attack. For a long moment as they attacked him, Paile thought they were not making any progress; he seemed impossible to hurt. Vivienne sent out another ice spell, temporarily freezing the demon in place. Taking the opportunity, both she and Bull attacked the demon, and when no longer frozen he finally fell to his knees. Bull drank his potion, his own cuts fusing into scars. Her relief swiftly died though, as Imshael stood once more, roaring to the sky. A red glow enveloped him, and he laughed that maddening laugh.

Paile gritted her teeth, feeling her strength fading. Her hits weren’t as strong, and she wasn’t as fast. Pain throbbed through her body, and she saw the blood she left behind, puddling around her feet. “Paile!” Cole suddenly appeared, attacking Imshael once more, somewhat recovered. “Catch!” He tossed something to her, and she instinctively reacted, catching the object. She stepped away slightly, and looked down. Cole’s health potion, the last one. Gratefully, she bit the cork from the bottle and spit it to the side, chugged down the healing liquid. 

A shouted warning drew her attention back to the fight, and saw that Imshael had an arm out, a sphere of lightning building around his hand. Taking no time, Paile reacted and dove to the side, the bottle shattering on the stones, rolling away as the lighting blast cleaved through the five foot radius of where she once stood. She felt the artificial wave of stamina catch her up, and she darted in once more, blade biting into the demon’s raised arm. 

With the three close fighters back in it, Vivienne stepped away, spells slinging down on the gigantic demon, and they carved into Imshael’s flanks. He finally slowed; his spells no longer as fast, his hits still strong, but not as heavy. Bull dodged from the edges growing off the back of the demon’s forearms, and brought his blade up into the arm pit, yanking backwards and opening a massive hole into the demon’s side. Cole flashed to it, and sunk his blades into the wound. He dug into the squishy innards, slicing at the heart, blood spurting out when they struck true. Imshael staggered, sank to his knees and crumpled forward. Cole had killed him.

A stuttering laugh pushed more blood from his wounds, but Imshael continued with it, uncaring that he was dying. Paile felt goosebumps race up her spine, raising the hair on her necks. “Oh, you have no idea,” he gurgled. “Blissfully ignorant little elven scum.”

Paile stepped forward quickly, “What? What are you talking about?” The demon just laughed at her, and his body starting to disintegrate. “What do you mean?!” 

They stood around the spot he had been, panting, trying to figure out what he had meant. There were no clues though, only her own franticly jumping ideas. She was exhausted, cohesion not something that was coming readily to her mind. More traps? Another army? Something to do with Cullen? Or were they just words, meant only to agonize over?

The clattering of metal on stone drew their gazes around, weapons prepared to fight once more. Lion dashed from some bushes, taking a protective stance in front of her, teeth bared in aggression. When Cassandra burst through the heavy doors, Paile sagged in relief. _Thank the Creators,_ she prayed, _Thank the Maker._

Inquisition soldiers quickly moved in, and her friends darted to their sides. Blackwall and Solas rushed to them, bottles of potions in their outstretched hands. They all grabbed one, drinking down the healing offered them. Dorian rushed to Bull, until he caught himself, slowing his steps to a careless jaunt. Once he reached Bull’s side, he started in on the Qunari, causing Bull to laugh at Dorian’s display. Cassandra waited impatiently at Paile’s side, speaking as soon as she had swallowed the last gulp, exhilaration coloring Cassandra’s every movement. “We have cleared the Red Templars from the Keep. None remain standing.” Paile nodded her head wearily, removing her helmet. 

“Any sign of Corypheus?” Cassandra shook her head, her exuberance somewhat dimming. Paile swallowed, both pleased she wouldn’t have to face him today and frustrated that the blighted creature was nowhere to be found. Just like Cullen.

Knight-Captain Rylen stepped forward, a huge grin across his face. He kneeled at her feet, and presented her with a pristine parcel, kept safe through all the fighting. Before she took it, Paile swept her gaze over her friends, over the soldiers of the Inquisition. They were all as tired as she was, all as hurt and bloody and exhausted. Yet they looked at her with reverence, with awe and hope. She felt her chest swell with pride. They had started from a rag-tag little group and grown into this, a strong and capable army. Paile drew from them, became the Inquisitor they all saw her as. Lion sat at Rylen’s side, chest bowing in his pride, matted and dirty but still magnificent. She lifted her chin, standing taller, and carefully took the cloth bundle. She turned, heading to the steps that lead up to the raised dais. As she passed, people bowed in reverence. 

Two soldiers stood on either side of the flagpole, the Red Templar flag that had been flying there now at their feet. Paile gently shook out the carefully wrapped bundle, attached it to the flagpole, and started hoisting their flag. The movements pulled at the cuts on her arms, stinging, but she ignored the pain. This moment was too momentous to worry about such trivial things as injuries.

About two feet above her head, the flag caught in the breeze, unfurling to reveal their symbol, the Inquisitions blade with the Watchful Eye surrounding it. The golden sunlight of the late afternoon day burnished it, making the threads glow gloriously. A roaring cheer rumbled behind her, echoing through the stones as she lifted the flag higher. The deafening sound spilled over her, and she couldn’t stop a beaming grin from breaking across her face as the celebration carried out in the wind, reaching far across the land below. They had taken Suledin Keep, struck a strong blow against the Red Templars and Corypheus. 

The Inquisition was a force to be reckoned with. Let their triumph echo across the land and into the Fade itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo loonnnnggg! I hope you guys like it; I am never writing a 5,500+ word chapter again, lol :D


	22. Chapter 22

Six days later, Paile flopped onto her bed, groaning into her warm blankets, freshly laundered and smelling lightly of Arbor Blessing. She was finally on her supremely soft and warm bed, her bed that she just wanted to crawl into and never come out of. Lion jumped up next to her, and meowed in pleasure, sprawling on his side. Paile turned and watched him with amusement. His finally clean fur was fluffy and curling, the diffused sunlight picking out the orange from the tawny, highlighting his coloring. He stretched out to his full length, almost five feet long, and rolled from side to side, purring happily. He finally paused on his back, paws curling into his chest, and gazed at her with warm golden eyes, an inquisitive meow pushing between his deep rumblings. 

Paile chuckled slightly, relishing being free of her armor and the cold. She scooted up and propped herself on her elbows, sinking her fingers into the heavenly strands of Lion’s stomach fur. She dropped her forehead down, snuggling into his pelt, and let out a heavy sigh. She breathed deeply, taking in his unique scent and the heat from the fire. She was exhausted. 

With Suledin Keep’s capture, the Inquisition had gained a new resource and a new burden. Although they had cleared the stronghold of all enemies, they then had to work quickly to make it safe once more. New temporary doors had been set up, the blockades they had used to assault the door moved inside. The extensive amount of Red Lyrium inside the castle itself then had to be addressed, crystals broken and destroyed. Varric’s warning of what exposure to the toxicity of the lyrium could do put her on edge. She had wondered if it wasn’t better to just destroy the keep and then retreat from it. Would people living there eventually be affected by the crystal they hadn’t been able to see? Would some slowly turn into living crystals themselves?

They had swept through the mines, killing any lingering Red Templars, doing what they could for the place as well. In doing so, damning evidence was uncovered of Mistress Poulin’s involvement with the kidnappings, of supplying people in exchange for money. The nasty surprised shook Sahrnia’s villagers even more; their trust betrayed by one who should be looking out for them. Paile had immediately offered them succor inside the keep itself, safety and community behind the walls. Many had agreed, relieved to have someplace to stay, even if it meant staying in temporary lodgings. Their forces had much to do to make the keep permanently livable, houses and food were made the priority.

They spent three days working feverishly. The fighting may have been over, but there was just as much work to keep them busy as before. Paile spent most of her time delegating, relaying orders of where to focus their attention first, although she had ventured out to helped clean out the mines. Although they had left a good number of soldiers behind in Skyhold, she felt uncomfortable leaving it so undefended, so she sent a part of the army back, adding more duties to those who remained. Any who had been wounded were treated promptly, and with a heavy heart, they gathered their dead.

Paile had stood stoic throughout, but she couldn’t help the tears that had shimmered in her eyes during the ceremony. She doubted she had fooled anyone with her attempts at being at peace, no matter that she tried to like the Inquisitor. A large pyre had been built in the middle of the keep, everyone gathered at the cremation, hearing the words the Sisters chanted, grieving for those they lost. They had all looked to her, seeking her for signs that this was all The Maker’s will, part of his grand plan. Inside, she just hurt, looking for her own answers. Was this to be her fate, leading those who followed her to death? Was she chosen, her fate guided by some being she didn’t even fully believe in? Had this bloodshed always been in her future?

Lion had sat next to her regally, looking just as grave and proud as any strong leader. Commander Cullen would look the same, she had known. He would have grieved his men properly, taken pride at what they had given their life for, and how they were being honored. If Cullen had been around, would he have taken her into his arms when she had tried to get ahold of herself back in her tent after the ceremony was complete? Would he have tried to comfort her, as Lion had? No, she thought bitterly, because she had never told him anything, never given him an indication… and she didn’t know if he would have even wanted to, not with the feelings she wished for. The feelings of a lover, not a friend or subordinate.

Shaking from her gloomy thoughts, Paile pushed herself upright, and sat, scrubbing her face with her hands. They had just returned to Skyhold, and she knew that Josephine and Leliana would have much to say with regards to the impact of taking Suledin Keep. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, she saw she had ten minutes left. She closed her eyes tiredly.

Ever since they had taken the keep, she had been having non-stop nightmares, only getting true sleep after waking four or five times. Paile stood and crossed to the mirror, looking at her reflection. Thankfully, she didn’t think anyone had noticed yet. Looking closely, she thought maybe her eyes looked a little sunken, but nothing more than how she looked after some of her travels. She wished she had time to take a nap, but even if she did, she doubted she would be able to get any true rest. 

Vivid memories of Haven would replay through her head, but now with new embellishments. The Archdemon would burn her to a contorted corpse with a single blast of fire. Or catch her in his teeth and fly up into the air, before dropping her, and she would scream all the way down. Or the dreams where Cullen came for her, incased in glowing red crystals, shambling like a behemoth. Or where he rode on the back of the Archdemon, doing Corypheus’s bidding, sneering down at her as she stared horrified. Nightmares of returning to Skyhold and finding it had been completely demolished, all her friends hanging in the ruins. Of seeing her clan being slaughtered, hunted for sport. Just dreaming fear after fear, an endless repeat. 

Surely she would get a good night’s sleep now that she was back in her own bed, and not her camping pallet. An uncomfortable and unfamiliar location combined with the stress of taking the castle were the triggers for the dreams, nothing else. Lion had always done what he could for her, and she had come to rely on him, clutching his warm body as she shivered in the dark aftermath. A few times, she had awoken, startling him awake as well, but he had looked just as haunted. Perhaps he had been having nightmares of his own.

Paile splashed some water on her face, and then looked to Lion. He had rolled again, facing her. His purring had faded, but he seemed content to be back on the bed, back in Skyhold. Poor darling must be thrilled to not have to traipse after her for miles. Although they had taken the return journey more slowly, it was still a long way for him to run. “Well,” she asked him, “shall we go see what enormous amount of work we have to do?”

Lion meowed at her, and leaped off the bed, quickly coming to her and bounded his paws up onto her stomach. Grinning, she spent a minute petting him, feeling the vibration of his purrs with her hands and through the paws on her stomach. She savored the quiet, the happy expression on her best friend’s feline face. Her Lion was very pleased to be back.

With a groan, she eased him off her, and they started for the War Room. She was mostly healed, but she still felt aches through her body, testimony for how hurt she actually been. Six days of magical healing later and she was still feeling it. Although, to be fair, she hadn’t exactly been taking it as easy as Dorian had wanted her to. The steps from her room plagued at a nasty cut on her leg, but she shrugged it aside. Really, the pain was nothing compared to what it had been.

“Paile!” Josephine stood just inside the room, her customary clipboard in hand. “I am so pleased to see you! I hear you have done amazing things in Emprise du Lion.” 

“The Red Templars are gone. Forever, with any luck.” Paile gave her a wry smile.

“My sources have reported no sightings in the area.” Leliana spoke up; she had been hidden to the side. They greeted each other with wide smiles and Paile took turns giving her friends hugs. Josephine gave Lion a pet down his head, but Leliana just smiled, considerate that Lion didn’t really allow many to touch him. “No enemies to report at all, in fact.”

“Good,” Paile gave an exaggerated sigh, “I wouldn’t have to ride all the way out there again. Hopefully Baron Desjardins will not need my help for a while yet.” She grimaced as she shifted, feeling a spark of pain shoot up her leg. “I need a little time to recuperate, unfortunately.”

Josephine noted her expression with concern, “Are you alright?”

“The Herald here took out a Red Lyrium infected giant all by herself,” Leliana boasted to Josephine. The Ambassador gasped, eyes growing wide with surprise. She immediately began scribbling down that information, no doubt with plans to send it to some uncooperative parties in need of a little help seeing things her way. Lion put his paws up on the table, and meowed indignantly at Leliana. “I am sorry Lion.” She laughed and corrected herself, “He and Paile took down the giant together.” She explained, chuckling as Lion shrugged through the insult of being forgotten. 

“Oh, tell me all about it!” Josephine leaned forward, excitement bright. Paile set into the story, glossing over the more gory details and the extent of her injuries. She didn’t think Josephine needed to hear about those parts, nor did she want to delve too deeply into them herself. Josephine was a rapt audience member, gasping and sighing at the appropriate parts. When she finally got to the end, the unfurling of their flag, she clapped and cheered, “I do wish I could have seen that part! Everyone must have been magnificent!” 

“Our troops did very well.” Paile hesitated for a second, before forcing the words out through the tightening of her throat. “Commander Cullen did a fantastic job training them. I am sure he would be proud. Will be proud,” she corrected herself, “When we find him.”

An uncomfortable hush settled over the room, Leliana and Josephine shooting each other significant glances, not looking her in the eyes. “What?” Paile bounced between the two of them, “What is it?”

Leliana spoke up gently. “My scouts have reported that there is no indication that Commander Cullen was ever at Suledin Keep.” Paile noted the formality with dread. “I believe, based on how we can find nothing of him, we should consider an alternative to his disappearance. Perhaps he… arranged to make himself disappear.” 

Paile felt herself freeze. What was Leliana saying? Lion growled, picking up on her shock. “I made no note to you before, but several things have not been sitting right with me. I have had some scouts go missing, on trips that were planned back while he was still around. Knight-Captain Rylen has also noted he has lost patrols in areas previously safe. Shortly after he took over, we rearranged the scheduling, and from the new paths, no others have been lost. But they have come across signs that there were Red Templars at the old locations, ambushes laid out.” Leliana paused. “We must consider the fact that Commander Cullen may have turned to the Templar order, gone to Corypheus.”

“No.” Paile said definitively, at the same moment Lion yowled his displeasure. He pushed into her side, shaking his head, but Paile focused on Leliana, not turning her attention. “I am sorry, but no. I don’t believe that the Commander would ever betray the Inquisition in that way. He…” Paile paused for a second, trying to ease the lump in her throat and pounding of her heart, “He may have left of his own devices, for his own reasons, but I not believe that he would ever turn to Corypheus. No, never.”

Leliana eyed her, and Paile tried to keep her Inquisitor mask in place. The Nightingale saw much, and Paile really didn’t want her to see what was in her heart. It was not something she was going to share; she barely looked at the truth herself. At first, it had been embarrassing and inconvenient, now it just hurt. Leliana didn’t need to know everything in her life.

When Leliana started to speak slowly and gently, Paile knew her protests hadn’t convinced her. “Perhaps the mysterious way he vanished was meant to serve as a distraction from Corypheus and the Red Templars. He would know we would put much time and resources into finding our Commander, allowing him to advance his own plans. The two men we found were infected with Red Lyrium, after all”

Lion continued to yowl, almost hissing in his anger. “Lion! Please, calm down,” Paile smoothed her hands down his back. He turned up to her, fury in his eyes. When he didn’t abate from his angry meows, she dropped down to a knee, hiding beneath the edge of the table for her two companions, wincing as the movement caused the gash on her leg to throb. Lion halted mid protest, watching her face carefully. 

“Please Lion,” she whispered to him, bringing both hands up to curl around his cheeks, “not right now. Please.” He looked for something in her eyes, took a long moment to study her emotions, her mask dropped as she spoke to only him. He leaned forward, and lovingly kissed her _vallaslin_ , little pink cat tongue rough along her cheekbone. She returned the kiss, pressing her lips strongly to his forehead, accepting the apology she thought he meant by it and trying to convey her own. 

Paile stood, feeling slightly calmer, smoothing her expression to be composed. Lion put his paws back up next to her, tail twitching and pupils narrowed, obviously still angry, but he no longer drowned out the conversation. “Apologies. But I think Lion expressed my opinion of the idea very well. Solas stated that magic had occurred in the Commander’s office. Perhaps he did… arrange to disappear. It is still more likely he was forced away, and one of those men then stole information off of his desk. We don’t know what happened, and until I do, I do not want to cast dispersions on the Commander’s character.”

Leliana nodded hesitantly, and Paile knew that she would be seeking her own answers, unsatisfied with just her word. Inwardly, she sighed. That is what Leliana did, found secrets. If she hadn’t found anything so far, she obviously thought she was looking in the wrong locations. Josephine nodded her head eagerly at Paile’s words, seemingly pleased to have an alternative that kept Cullen from being a traitor. Paile knew that feeling.

“Inquisitor, we must discuss something else of importance.” Josephine rushed into the awkward silence. “I do not doubt that there will be a significant reaction from the nobles in regards to your capture of Suledin Keep. I have sent many letters to those surrounding the area, informing them of our reasons for marching an army into Orlais and Emprise du Lion. I have sent a detailed account to the Empress as well. There is little likelihood that she will actually receive this letter, will probably be intercepted like the others we have sent previously, but we must try.” She shuffled through the papers on her note board, withdrawing several to hand to her. “Responses have mostly been positive, especially in regions where you have helped before.” She beamed at Paile, pleased to have their hard work in the Inquisition recognized.

“This is good news,” Paile returned the smile, a little confused about the information. “But wouldn’t the removal of a Red Templar base of operations be seen as a completely good thing?”

“Some may see our taking of a castle as signs of future expansion. A first step to a war with Orlais and movement to make the Inquisition more powerful.” Josephine frowned down at notes on her paper, but she dismissed it with a shake of her head. “However, I have made sure to assuage fears if they have been brought up.” Her typical happy smile came back, “Indeed, I think this may have been the final push we needed to gain an invitation to the upcoming peace talks at the Winter Palace. Once we receive that invitation, we can stop Corypheus’s plans to assassinate the Empress!”

“Then this is very good news,” Paile beamed her approval, but she knew the smile was not nearly as real as she wanted it to be. There was so much wrong still, just more problems to deal with and few solutions actually found. And now, apparently she now needed to practice at The Game as well, learn the intricacies required from a player at court. As it was a ball, no doubt she would have to learn how to dance on top of the etiquette and conversation lessons she was sure she would have.

She closed her eyes, feeling the exhaustion pulling on her, and breathed deeply. She could do this. This was just one more thing; just one more insane event to add to her already insane life. Lion pushed into her hand, meowing softly. Making sure her smile was secure, she opened her eyes once more, but she tightened her hand in Lion’s fur, pulling strength from his unwavering support. “Well, sounds like we have much to prepare for. Please Josephine, continue.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple more chapters till my story is done!

Lion was still agitated a few hours later, pacing before the fire and twitching his tail. He would occasionally come up to her, meow at her and make definitive gestures. Paile knew he was trying to communicate with her, but she just didn’t understand. Maybe she should bring Cole up to see if he could translate for her, but she hesitated. Lion was most likely reflecting her mood; if by tomorrow he was still worked up, then she would talk to Cole. He had once said that he only picked up on that which hurt, or a ways to help the hurt; nothing else called to him. Hopefully Lion was not hurting in any way, just feeding from her restlessness.

A knock on the door brought a sigh of relief to her lips. She was sitting at her desk, trying to toil through the massive amount of paperwork she had accumulated. She had been right; taking Suledin Keep just added more work to the piles she already had. She pushed away from the desk, passing Lion as he paced, and went to her door. Outside, a messenger saluted her, and handed her a note. She returned the gesture, and broke open the missive. Inside was a hurriedly scribbled note from Solas. Paile frowned as she scanned the contents, Solas revealing that he had learned some important news.

She glanced up her stairs, not hearing Lion’s silent pacing, but definitely heard the little rumbling growls that pushed through occasionally. She bit her lip, and then slipped from the door, closing it softly behind her. He was not in a good mood, and Solas seemed to avoid Lion as much as possible. It was probably for the best that she went to see him alone.

Paile hurried down the stairs, and through the great hall, nodding to the ever increasing number of emissaries and nobility who were passing time with the Inquisition. Varric sat before his fireplace, reading from a book, and she waved to him, pleased to see he was settled back in with no ill effects from their siege. She opened the door to the solarium, studiously avoiding looking at the one that passed outside to Cullen’s office, and greeted Solas.

“Ah, _Lethalan,_ I am pleased at your speed!” Solas turned, striding towards her with uncharacteristic excitement. “I have heard news of Cullen.” 

Paile’s heart jumped in her chest, a dizzy rush of emotions and hope making her stop and steady herself. “You have? Where is he? Is he alright?” She rushed out, so desperate to hear any news, any news at all.

“I still have not been able to find him; a pervasive magic seems to be blocking me. But I have heard from a friend, a spirit.” Solas gestured to the couch, and she impatiently sat, anything to make him continue. “The spirit is one of love, and she stated that she had been pulled to Cullen. He has fallen in love. Surely this indicates that he is well, and that he is safe.”

Paile felt everything freeze in her, her heart stop beating for a moment. Cullen was in love. He was… in love with someone. Solas continued to relay details, but every word was a stab to her chest, radiating through her in mocking beats. She felt her body grow numb, cold leeching through her limbs and settling in her chest. “The spirit told me that Cullen had fought the feeling for a while, but then finally opened himself up to the emotion. He does not feel that he is worthy of his love’s affections; but he has made it his priority to remain by her side, do whatever he can to protect and help her. Which probably explains his absence.” Solas finally turned to her and smiled. “Wherever he is, we now know that he has not been captured or tortured. He is safe, and happy.”

Paile swallowed at the burning of her throat, licking her lips to reply. She forced the words out, feeling them tear harshly through the ice encasing her. “I see,” her voice came out small and whispering as she fought to control her reaction. “I am so… pleased that he is safe. I…” Paile forced a smile to her lips, “I should let Josephine know, Leliana too.” Her head started buzzing, everything compounding inside her, looking for an outlet, bouncing around the ice. She stood hurriedly. “I need to… I need to relay the happy news. He is in love. He is… the Commander is happy. Safe.”

Solas’s gaze turned confused and searching, but Paile spun and strode from the room quickly, leaving him behind. She couldn’t answer any of his questions. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk. The words just echoed in her head. _He is in love. He would remain by this woman’s side. He was gone._

The words chased her, and she strode across the main hall, picking up speed as she walked. She pushed through the door to Josephine’s office, but she turned, racing down the steps to the underground area. Alone, she needed to be alone. She flew down the stairs, tripping and catching herself on her hands and knees, wildly looking to see if anyone was about. The place was empty. There were rarely people in this part of Skyhold, but she aimed for the dusty library, where no one ever ventured. She darted through the stone chamber, her frantic steps echoing, laughing at her. She yanked open the library door, and slammed it shut behind her.

Irregular gasps pushed from her lips, tearing at her chest, and she leaned against the door, slowly sliding down the wood. She crumpled, wrapping her arms around her legs, pressing her eyes to her knees, curling into herself. _Control,_ she chanted to herself, _be calm._ She didn’t know how long she sat, wrestling with the hitches in her breathing, pressing back the tears that built in her eyes. Scenario’s flashed through her head, each one adding to the ice around her heart. At least Lion wasn’t here. He was always able to tell how she was feeling, and his compassion would shatter her right now.

Eventually she dropped her hands lifelessly beside her raised knees, head resting against the door, staring sightlessly at the dusty shelves. So, it had happened. Some beautiful and perfect woman had caught his heart. Paile just knew she would be amazing too; Cullen deserved no one less, deserved to be happy, she thought with self-loathing. He was everything good. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him? If he wanted to, and turned his charm onto someone, no doubt they would fall in an instant. She had thought… flashes of their chess game came to mind, a precious memory she had replayed over and over again, romanticized into something it had not been. 

With the starkness of distance, reality clearing away the rosy hue, and she recalled the words they had spoken. She had said they should spend more time together, and she thought he had understood what she had meant, had been pleased. His voice had softened, his words were gentle. She had been restrained, nervous and unspecific in her meaning, though. He had probably just been kind, saying he would like that. He probably had never seen her as anything more than what she was, the Herald to his cherished religion, or the one he reported to. Or worse yet, he had seen her infatuation, and had been indulging her, nothing more.

Her heart thudded painfully, emotions cracking at her attempted numbness. She absently noted she was shivering as the waves of pain passed through her. _Push it aside, put it away. Everything was in your own head. Forget it; be what everyone wants you to be._ Paile was a silly little elf, weak and foolish. The Inquisitor was strong, would never be so naive as to have her heart broken because she never would have fallen in love in the first place. Soul deep weariness pulled at her, and she stayed on the floor, awake but sightless, waiting for the detachment to solidify her into the Inquisitor.

***

Varric scanned the room, waiting for Paile to reappear. Earlier, she had moved with unusual hurry, her walk not as full of elven grace as she normally had. Solas had appeared at the door, watching her back with a concerned expression. “What was that all about?” Varric had asked.

Solas had turned towards him. “Good news, I would think. Paile has gone to tell her advisors that I have heard of Cullen. He is safe and has fallen in love. Paile seemed to welcome the news, but she was distracted. I wonder if they are worried about something we do not know.” He frowned at the door Paile had disappeared through.

Varric turned as well, wondering what the secret was. “Ha, so Curly found himself a woman. I’m a little surprised he unbent himself enough to do that. The man was always a workaholic.” He thought back to the Commander, contemplating the human. “No doubt he is a stammering mess with his lady love.” When Paile reappeared, he would pull her aside; ask her for all the details. She must know more than what Solas had told her.

So he watched, eager to pry such a juicy piece of gossip from her. Just before dinner, she came back into the main hall, smiling and greeting those who were quick to speak to her. He was a bit shocked to see Lion was not with her; the feline had become a staple sight at her side. Paile grabbed a goblet of wine just as Dorian hailed her. Varric decided to shamelessly eavesdrop; he would claim her attention after Sparkler was done. 

“Paile! Busy as ever, I see.” She smiled at the sally, disengaging gently from the small crowd around her and stepped to the side with Dorian. “How are your wounds today?”

She gave a grimace and rubbed at her thigh, “The leg wound is still acting up, but it is much better. Thank you for your help, Dorian. It would have been a lot worse without you.”

“I know; my skills amaze even me,” Dorian struck a pose, exaggerated and theatrical, “Beauty and talent all in one package. Everyone must bask in awe.” Paile brought the glass up to her lips, no doubt hiding her smile behind the small sip.

“So, what do you say to a game of chess after dinner? It will be ever so entertaining, and my cheating skills are rusty since my customary partner has vanished into thin air.” Paile’s hand, which had been descending, froze, and Varric caught the flash of panic that Paile could not hide quickly enough. Dorian had missing it entirely and her smile was fixed back into place before he looked to her once more. She mumbled a non-committal reply, and stared blankly over Dorian’s shoulder as he continued to speak, her smile frozen in place, her purple eyes dark and haunted, expression cut from marble.

Varric’s heart sank. “Oh, Moonbeam,” he whispered, things clicking into place. “Oh, damn it.” Varric knew that look, the mask of forced smiles and distant thoughts. It was something about the eyes; the way that they didn’t reflect the smile on the lips, always slightly pinched, the skin pulled tight. He had seen that look on Hawke’s face, a permanent feature after Fenris had left her, a façade that she had put up to stop others from seeing her pain. It had been a while before he had gotten the truth from Hawke, pulling the story out of her over many nights of drinking as she tried to forget. She had been heartbroken for months, in pain for years, and now Varric saw the same signs in his elven friend. He sighed deeply. How had he not seen that Paile had been in love with Curly? He watched as she gulped down a mouthful of wine, her features twisting in anguish for a second before conforming to polite interest once more. 

In a lull in Dorian’s mostly one sided conversation, Paile made her excuses and slipped away. Instantly, Varric stood, and rushed to Dorian’s side. He spoke quietly to the mage, watching as the smirk slipped from his lips and was replaced with dismay. They nodded to each other before he hurried away, another mage his destination while Dorian went to look for Josephine. He had some practice with taking heartbroken people’s minds off their troubles; the key was distraction. He would utilize that for Moonbeam. She had friends; they would all pull together for her. 

***

Paile had eaten methodically, listening to the diplomat sit next to her with her wavering concentration. She had tried to be a decent dinner companion, but sometimes she was sucked back into her toxic imagination, picturing scenarios in her head. When she could, she made her excuses, escaping with a plate of meat she had shredded, eager to get away. Lion would most likely be hungry, she told herself, providing herself an escape. She kept the smile fixed on her face as she walked up the stairs, even though there was no one around to guard for. Maybe if she kept it up, Lion wouldn’t notice anything wrong.

As soon as she opened to door, Lion appeared at the top of the stairs, and meowed indignantly at her. “Yes Lion, I am sorry.” She soothed, reaching down to pet between his ears as he followed her further in. “I spent a very boring afternoon working on my lessons,” she told him the half-truth. She had spent some time with Josephine, but not for very long and not with any success. She had eventually given up and taken a solitary walk along the ramparts. 

Paile sat before the fire, trying to beat the iciness that seeped in her bones. How did you separate your emotions and your body? She needed to be emotionally cold and distant, but she shivered; her hands and feet clumsy, her tongue feeling useless at words. She fed Lion distractedly, staring into the flames. He pushed into her side, and half crawled into her lap, meowing at her in concern. She forced her fixed smile larger, but he didn’t buy it. He was worried, reading her emotions too well. She needed to latch onto something for a distraction, perhaps a book.

When Lion stopped eating, she gently picked him up off her lap, setting him down as she stood. With the thought to read, she crossed to her bookshelves, running her eyes over the titles. Moments passed before she realized she didn’t truly comprehend the words, so she started up again. She could feel Lion’s gaze on her, but he was quiet, let her have her space. She closed her eyes in relief, thankful for it. She was too fragile. 

Another knock on the door distracted her from her chore, and she furrowed her brow, crossing to the steps. “Paile, darling, do you have a minute?” Vivienne’s voice spoke through the wood, muffled. Even more confused, Paile opened the door to the smiling enchanter. 

“Yes, I am… free.” Paile looked at the cheerful woman in confusion. What was she doing here? Vivienne was always polite, but she didn’t strike Paile as someone who would come to someone’s chambers unannounced just for a friendly chat. 

“Bien!” Vivienne clapped, and brushed past her. “We have much work to do!” As Vivienne marched up her stairs, Paile saw a small army behind her, maids carrying bags and bolts of fabric. She watched, confused, as they all marched in after the mage, all on a mission. Dorian appeared next, tossing her a wink and linking arms with her.

“Time for one of my favorite activities!” He grinned at her consternation, “Dress fitting!”

Paile was pulled along in their wake, catching eyes with Lion, who looked as confused as she did. Vivienne stood in the center of the room, directing around her army, setting things up and prepping. As more bolts came in, a veritable rainbow of colors shone throughout the room. Lion dodged out of the way of dozens of feet, before leaping up onto her bed, tawny head following the bustling people back and forth. “Dress fitting? Why would I need a dress?” Paile queried, feeling sluggish and stupid.

Vivienne turned to her, “Why, for the ball at the Winter Palace! Surely you didn’t think you could wear your armor to such an event?” She sniffed down her nose, amused at the image. “The Game must be played with grace and élan, my dear, not with brute force.” Vivienne circled around her, stopping side by side with Dorian as they studied her with a critical eye. 

Paile squirmed, feeling like a sacrificial lamb. What was going on in their heads? “I hadn’t really thought about it,” she confessed. “I suppose I could wear one of my-“

“No,” Dorian cut her off, “not one of your existing lounge wear outfits or Dalish pieces. You will be meeting with Royalty and the Nobility. This will be the time to show you have wealth and power, that the Inquisition is an extension of you, and that we are not afraid of anyone.” Paile licked her lips, nodding hesitantly. She supposed they were right. 

“You haven’t started without me, have you?” Josephine’s voice rose from the stairwell, running up with excitement. “Oh lovely! You have some wonderful material here!” She ran reverent fingers over just one of the stacks of fabric bolts riddled around the room. The three of them started speaking in terms she didn’t understand; of pleats and waist lines, draping and embellishments. Paile was placed in the center of it all, and a woman bustled around her, taking measurements and calling out numbers to be jotted down by an assistant to the side.

A whistle rose from her doorway and she turned her head to see who it was now. Varric peered around her room with an impressed expression, “Inquisitor’s gets the good digs, I see!” Bull came up right behind him, followed by Sera, of all people. “We brought the wine!” They hoisted their hands in the air, showing their prizes of varied bottles of alcohol. 

“And something a little stronger!” Bull clarified. Josephine hurried over and collected a bottle, a maid already handing cups for the wine to be poured into. With a wink, Bull handed her a glass of his brew. Everyone all started talking excitedly, the level of noise rising with each new addition. Refreshments were brought in, and candles lit so that her room blazed with cheery light.

“I brought the shoes!” Leliana crowed, raising a box over her head as she entered. Her pronouncement was met with enthusiastic chatter, and she traded Josephine her prize for a glass of her own wine. Cassandra snuck in behind the other maids who were presumably bringing in more shoes. The Seeker hurried behind Paile’s desk, propping herself in the chair and drinking from her own goblet. As Paile looked incredulously around her room, she felt true warmth helping her chill. This was turning into genuine fun. With a start, she noticed Cole, beaming happily from his sitting place in front of the fire. Everyone was laughing and chatting, the atmosphere fun and relaxed. She took a deep breath, feeling some of the ache ease. 

Vivienne came forward with bolts of fabric, draping them across her shoulder. She stood back, and she, Dorian, Josephine and Leliana made critical comments, eyes narrowed in concentration. They set aside many of the colors, discarding them for being too light, too pastel, too heavy, to dark. The rejected pile grew larger, and Paile noted with a laugh one of the maids kept swaddling Cole in the material, his beaming smile growing larger with each collection. “I have never been this pretty before!” He sunnily told her, making all around her smile at his confession. 

They brought a red bolt forward, one Vivienne was pleased with. “This is such a rich, bright color. It will look well highlighted in the court.” She draped it around her shoulders, and Paile struck a silly pose. 

Sera blew a raspberry, swinging her legs from her perch above. She, Varric and Bull had all moved up to her balcony, offering advice and comments that went largely ignored from the four before her. Sera started tossing grapes at Lion, bouncing them off his back. He started, and glared up at the elf as she chortled. She nudged Bull where he leaned against the railing at her hip, “Bet you can’t get Lion between the ears!” Bull laughed, and took his own shot, grape sailing through the air. Lion dodged to the side, snapping his teeth. Varric took up his own projectile, and they soon had a silly little game going, tossing grapes down to Lion, and Lion attempting to catch them in his teeth. 

“Not the red,” Dorian spoke up above the noise the three raucous members were producing. “It does nothing for her complexion.” He smoothed his mustache, thinking hard.

“We should play up her coloring, not hide it. Let’s steer clear of traditional Orlesian designs,” Leliana interjected. “Paile is a Dalish elf,” She inclined her head, and Paile grinned, “lets show those of The Game that she is much more than they could ever imagine.”

“Something dark, to highlight her hair!” Josephine clapped, “You have such lovely silvery hair. And your eyes, I have never seen any like them in my day!” She sighed in delight.

Dorian and Vivienne glanced to each other, and with a congenial nod, both spoke together, “Purple.” They spun, searching for all the purple bolts they had. A few grapes were tossed at their backs, and wine was refilled for all. The red bolt was removed, and placed on a discarded stack, sitting next to a yellow golden colored cloth. The color combination sent a sharp pang through her, and she felt her serenity dim. _Cullen would look amazing in those colors._ Paile took a gulp of her potent brew, pushing down the knot in her throat. _Stop it,_ she lectured herself, _he isn’t coming back._

A cry drew her from her melancholy, and Dorian held up a bolt, looking as if the Maker had bestowed all the secrets of the world into the material. “It’s perfect!” He rushed up to her, and reverently unfolded the fabric so that it adorned her shoulders. Her friends all quieted, and a mirror was brought forth for her to look at the effect. The fabric was a deep indigo, but it shimmered in the folds, the candlelight picking up a silvery violet highlight as it moved, the color similar to her eyes. The effect made her hair blaze, strands glowing ethereally, and her eyes sparkled brighter than before, the crystalline purple so different from everyone else’s. 

A sigh escaped from someone to her right, and she shot a startled glance at Cassandra. The Seeker blushed and banished the dreamy look that had been on her face, coughing slightly. “You look lovely,” Cassandra said calmly, speaking as though she were not a brilliant red. Paile smiled, amused to see the romantic side Cassandra rarely revealed. 

Paile bit her lip and looked at Lion, needing to know what he thought of it, inexplicably nervous. He was staring at her, uncaring at the grapes pelting his sides. His pupils were dilated, and she saw warmth there, and something else she couldn’t describe. But it made her blush, feeling her cheeks and ears pinking, and diverted her attention, uncomfortable that others were seeing this side of her. “It is beautiful,” she rushed out, smoothed her hands gently over the silken fabric, taking pleasure in the decadent feel.

“It is settled then,” Vivienne clapped, and all the bolts of fabric where gathered, and marched from the room. “Now, on to the cut!” Groans echoed from the loft, but smiles belied their apparent aversion. Her fashionable friends were already pulling out patterns, exclaiming over the styles as they argued over the benefits and issues. Cole watched it all with happy fascination, and Cassandra looked as if she wanted to join in, but was holding herself back. Lion returned to dodging projectiles, but he kept looking to her, half-heartedly playing now. The peanut gallery started up a burping contest, laughing loudly as they drank from Bull’s special alcohol. 

Paile shook her head, pleased at the light atmosphere. Her chest still echoed hollowly, and she was pleased at the distraction. She had to keep pushing aside thoughts of Cullen, and knew once her friends were gone there would be no distraction from it. It would be a long night, with little sleep. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Tuning back into the commotion around her, she threw herself into the festivities.

***

In the early hours of the morning, Paile slept fretfully, tossing and turning in her sleep. She murmured words, feeling the nightmares so strongly; she knew that they were real. Far across Orlais, a deep rumbling laughter made Corypheus turn. “What have you to announce?”

“I have her,” the voice spoke, words working across the Fade. There was no one else in the night with the ancient Tevinter mage, but there was a presence resting just beyond the Veil, malevolence and evil seeping through. “Your machinations yielded fruit, in a roundabout way. Her defenses have finally weakened.”

Corypheus let his anticipation spread a cruel smile over his twisted face. “Then destroy her. I will suffer no rival to live.”


	24. Chapter 24

Cullen woke sharply when he heard Paile sob. He blinked in the darkness, able to see perfectly from the light of the moon. Paile was pulled away from him, eyes screwed shut tight, tears darkening and spiking her pale lashes. She was crying; he had never seen her cry before, not truly. The sight twisted his heart, and he pushed in closer to her body, purring gently. The past several days had been rough for her; she had had no reprieve from her nightmares, but he seemed to help calm her. This was different, though; while she had been agitated or afraid during her dreams before, she had never been sad.

“Why?” She whispered, “Why did you leave?” Cullen started slightly, concerned. She had definitely never spoken in her sleep before. What was she dreaming of, who was she talking to? What sorrow would move her to this point? His presence calmed her slightly, it seemed his purrs helped drag her from the nightmare, and she turned back towards him, sighing deeply and curling around him. Cullen brushed a hand down her cheek, wiping at her tears. 

As she breathed lightly, Cullen sat awake. There was a tingle in the air, a hum of almost tangible vibrations. He felt on edge, eyes chasing shadows around the room. There was something strange at play, and he didn’t like it. Perhaps it was just Paile’s feelings affecting his own, but Cullen stayed awake, keeping watch over the night.

“Cullen!” Paile cried, making him jump and snap his gaze to hers. Did she all the sudden recognize him? Her eyes were open and staring into his, but they were unfocused, hazy and distant. She was dreaming still, speaking to his shadow. Her eyes blinked, panicked and frantic and heart-wrenchingly sad.

“You… you fell in love.” A solitary tear slipped down her cheek; gaze still locked with his, her words so light he had to lean closer to hear the words. “Was I not good enough?” Another sob bubbled from her chest, contorting her delicate features into grief. “Why did you leave and fall in love with someone else?”

His breath left his body, and a riot of emotions ripped through his chest. She believed he had left her willingly? That he could possibly fall in love with anyone else? Maker’s breath, had she no inkling how he felt about her? Every time they had talked, he had felt giddy and awkward, sure that there was a sign over his head revealing to everyone watching that he was in love with her. He had supported her through everything, even if he didn’t agree, pushed himself and his troops to be the best, all for her. Cullen knew no one was perfect, but to him she was the pinnacle, the standard he held all others. Because she was who she was, she was his ideal, perfect for him. 

He cried out, his meow echoing through the room, but she didn’t hear it, lost in her nightmare. The pain in her eyes tore at his heart, and he watched helplessly as she screwed them shut, thrashing her head back and forth. He pressed his face against hers, the words he longed to speak to her coming out as pathetic meows. He hated this situation; his complacency with staying by her side, mostly content to be her best friend now coming back to bite at both of them. Damn it, he blamed himself.

Paile froze suddenly, amethyst eyes peeling wide and mouth dropping open. Cullen’s stomach twisted, his instincts razor sharp. A keening scream spilled from her lips, and icy terror ripped into him. Her left hand burst with sickly green light, fingers tensing into claws as her Anchor activated. Cullen jumped to his feet, the tingle in the air bursting into a malevolent hum. He felt his hair rise on his body, watching with horror as the light from the Anchor spread up her arm, moving in pulsing , painful waves. In seconds she was covered. Paile’s cries grew weaker, her eyes unseeing as they stared at the ceiling. She started moving frantically, her silver hair tangling as she tried to escape from the force of her fear. 

Cullen jumped onto her, pushing at her, barking orders to wake. His hands stung as they sank into the spell, little needles stabbing at him. He ignored it, his terror pushing aside anything besides breaking her from the trance. She just moved more vigorously, trying to get away from him. Nothing registered, and he redoubled his efforts, sinking claws into her skin, screaming himself. Her wails died away, her body still bowing as she silently cried, terror never diminishing.

Cullen spent what felt like lifetimes trying to break her from her unconsciousness, though he knew it was only minutes. Paile slowed, her contortions not as violent, but he didn’t delude himself into thinking it was because she was easing. No, she was weakening. He could no longer hear her heartbeat over his own, her infrequent breaths too shallow to sustain herself. She was dying before his eyes, and his actions weren’t helping her.

He spent too many frantic minutes forcing his brain to work again. A spell. This was a spell. He needed a mage! His gaze roved over her face, taking note of her pallor beneath the shifting shimmer. He tore himself away from her, leaving his heart, and raced down the steps. The door latch finally yielded to his clumsy paws, and he burst from her room. He couldn’t spare any second; he knew who he had to get, and nothing was stopping him from dragging them here. 

***  
Solas jolted awake at the sound of his door shuddering from a force being thrown against it. Unmistakable feline howls echoing loudly through the corridor. His lupine instincts, so easily contained normally, rose to the forefront around the cat, but he ignored it. His time in the fade had been uneasy, a breathless anticipation swaddling him as he had dreamed; something momentous had happened. He rose from his bed, snatching his staff as he ran to the door. 

Lion panted on the other side, his eyes frantic and worried. As soon as he saw Solas, the feline turned, dashing down the corridor for several steps before pausing, looking over his shoulder. The cat obviously wanted him to follow, and he spent no time hurrying after him. Voices rose through the keep, doors opening to discover the sounds of commotion. 

“Vishante kaffas!” Dorian’s swear echoed from behind him, slippered feet racing to catching up. They tore through the castle, sprinting after Lion. The cat could run faster than they could, and he kept to the edge of their sight, obviously impatient at their speed. Solas could feel the tangible malice in the air, the feeling of the Fade sharp. He was unsurprised to find Enchanter Vivienne gripping her staff in the main hall, looking for a battle. The Veil was thin tonight, all mages would be particularly aware of it, and Lion’s loud dash would have woken many others. As soon as Vivienne saw their heedless sprinting, she took up the flight as well, and they all raced to Paile’s room. 

Solas broke through into her room first, dashing to the top of the stairs. Lion had already leapt onto the bed, his body pressed to Paile in an attempt to stop her frantic thrashing. A strong spell held her in its grasp, her breaths sawed in and out ineffectually, eyes staring in horror at something they couldn’t see. Solas felt the two other mages come up behind him, but he couldn’t spare a thought to them this second. He pushed his palm past the spell and placed it on Paile’s forehead. He closed his eyes, and dropped into the lucid dreaming that allowed him to cross into the Fade.

He felt the shift, and opened his eyes, gaping at the scene before him. Nothing would have prepared him for what he saw. A dark caricature of Paile’s room stood starkly amidst rocky darkness, this section of the Fade one he didn’t recognize. Her bed was perfectly the same, and Paile twisted on it, staring up at the sky. What surprised him was that Cullen was there, pressing down on her shoulders, his face twisted in anguish as he watched the elf. As equally clear to his sight, he saw an overlay of Lion, the two the same, a spell that wove the two bodies together. Lion had been Cullen all along? How had someone learned to cast the ancient elvhan spell? Surely only he or Mythal could have cast it, and it was not of her doing.

A deep laugh rippled from above him, and Solas twisted, gazing up at the sky. High above, a demon in flew in circles, and Paile watched it in horror. The demon’s visage was that of the red lyrium Archdemon that had attacked Haven; the demon was playing on her worst fears. The demon swooped down, and spoke to him in ancient Elvish, “Well, well, well. What do we have here? The pitiful protector of the Elvhan race? You won’t be able to save her, wont be able to save any of them.” The voice rumbled through Solas, shaking at his own core. 

Solas pushed it away, focusing on his surroundings. A grim smile had him standing, and moving away from the bed. Luckily, he wasn’t alone. The shadowed forms of Dorian and Vivienne moved towards him, and he clapped a hand on both, focusing his will. With an ancient spell, he brought their minds through the veil as he so frequently did, bringing them to walk in Paile’s dreams. 

The two stumbled for a second, caught off guard. Dorian glanced around wildly, before his gaze latched onto Paile, and he rushed to her side. “What kind of spell is this?” He threw the question at Solas. “What is Cullen doing here? Is that… Lion? Is Cullen actually Lion?” The questions flew from the man, slowly piecing together answers to his own questions. 

Another rumbling laugh spun their attention to the demon who toyed with them. The sound made Paile scream, reacting violently. Solas brought his hands to the spell around Paile, deciphering the magic there. “The demon cast this spell; it is draining her life,” he concentrated, pushing at the weave. It was powerful, stronger than just he could handle. He felt Corypheus’s magic infused with the evil of the demon’s own not insubstantial force.

Vivienne clenched her staff in her hands, circling to keep her eyes fixed on the flying demon. She gave a shout as it dropped down to them, firing off a barrier. Apparently the demon was done playing. “She will die; I will take her and the Anchor for Corypheus!” It screamed. Fire streamed from its rotted mouth, eating away at the barrier. 

Solas couldn’t contend with both the spell and the demon at the same time, and he dropped turned from Paile, swinging around to fight. If the demon died, his spell over Paile would weaken substantially. The three mages stood around the bed, protecting the elf who was half in the Fade, and half out. If she died here, she would die altogether. 

Dorian shot fireballs, massive bursts of power that flew through the air, breaking against the dragon’s side. Sparks exploded, burning little holes into the thinner membrane of it’s wings, and the demon screamed in pain and frustration. It retaliated, sending its own fire at the group. Vivienne dropped the butt of her staff to the ground, warding from the blast, and Solas sent a stream of power to the barrier, strengthening it. 

“Its wings!” Dorian cried, sending out another volley, “Destroy its wings!” Solas instantly started drawing power from the magic of the Fade, solidifying it to crush at the demon, crumpling the thinner tissue. Vivienne called down lightning that punched through the skin, and the demon wobbled, no longer able to fly so easily. Solas knew that flight would be different here in the Fade, though, and he continued to send his power to the wounds already present, making them deeper. 

The dragon laughed, and dropped to the ground, stalking their little group. “Greetings Dorian.” The insidious voice rumbled around the clearing, menace in every disguised word. “It is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment I mistook you for your father.” Dorian flinched, but steadied, resuming his barrage with anger. “What’s it like living as an apostate Vivienne? Do you really think you will reclaim your power in the Circle? At your age?” It clicked its forked tongue, the sound escaping from the rotted holes around its mouth.

Vivienne blasted another spell. “Solas, bring the Commander through. We could use his abilities.” She brushed off the taunt, as steady as if this were a typical fight. Solas turned, unsure how his spell would affect Cullen, but seeing the wisdom in the Enchanters words. Solas planted his hand between Cullen’s shoulders, and pulled his consciousness through. 

***

Cullen pressed his paws to Paile’s shoulders, trying to prevent her from hurting herself with her thrashing. Solas sat on the bed, a hand pressed to her forehead, covering her branching _vallaslin,_ body still and eyes closed. Next to the bed, Vivienne and Dorian stood in similar states, their bodies stopped mid-motion. He didn’t know what was going on, but Paile had eased slightly and breathed a little more deeply.

A pressure on his back froze his body, and he shifted off of Paile, unsure what was happening to him, but not wanting it to affect the elf. He felt his eyes drop, mind hazing as he was pulled down into unconsciousness. 

With a start, he realized he could open his eyes, and he did, glancing about wildly. He was no longer in Paile’s room, although he was still on her bed. The dim light was strangely hard to see through, his vision no longer as sharp. He sucked in a breath, and looked down. He was himself once more , no longer covered in fur and possessing hands and feet instead of paws. He gaped for a second, astonished. A roar made him snap to attention, flicking a glance at Paile. She whimpered, but was still held down by the spell. A blast of purple light streamed past his head as Dorian sent a spell away. 

Cullen turned, and saw the the Archdemon that had attacked Haven. It circled, swiping out with teeth and claws to Solas and Vivienne, strange sparks rising as it clashed against barriers they snapped into place. He lept from the bed, but froze, clenching his hands in frustration. He had no weapon, no armor. He was naked in the strange place, defenseless and powerless. 

Vivienne spun to him, and spent a moment drawing power from the magic steeped in the air. Slowly, the space around him shimmered, items coalescing. Armor covered his body, a Templar’s sword and shield combination forming in his hands. A fierce satisfaction welled up through him, and when the items were solid and Vivienne dropped her hands, he charged to attack. Finally a chance for him to show his skill.

The dragon reared back, and sent a blast of fire at him. He ducked behind his shield, the flames roaring against the metal. When it fizzled uselessly against the metal, Cullen ran to the dragon’s head, dodging to the side as it snapped its fangs, bringing his sword down on the ridge of its nose. It cried in pain, rearing back. He pressed forward, slashing at the softer underbelly, blade slicing through. A sickly green glow immediately surrounded the edges of the gash, the flesh fizzling and bubbling as the spell ate away.

A clawed hand was deflected with a sharp clang, and Cullen turned the dragon, wary of Paile defenseless and the unarmored mages behind him. He rolled out of the way of the next scorching fire blast shooting from the dragon's mouth, placing himself on the opposite side of the dragon. The dragon snapped forward again, and this time caught him, teeth sparking on the armor of his shoulder. Cullen cried out, but swung with his blade, the dragon leaving an opening while teeth found purchase in his flesh. The thin stripe of tissue between the plates of the monster’s shoulders and neck drew his attention, and Cullen’s blade flashed out, blood spraying as he found success.

The dragon screamed and lashed out. Cullen danced around the swinging claws, jumping and ducking. The demon spun, facing towards Paile once more, it’s tail looming. Cullen’s heart jumped in his throat; he couldn’t allow its attention to be pulled from him. As the heavy tail crashed down, he held out his sword, hiding behind the shield, taking a page from Paile’s fighting style. He let the momentum of the dragon’s tail impale itself onto his blade, sinking all the way to the hilt in the unarmored flesh. 

The dragon roared, flames leaping from its mouth. Dorian jumped, a barrier folding over Paile. The flames set the cloth of Paile’s bed on fire, and Cullen saw the mages rush to put it out, protecting Paile from burning. The dragon spun, ripping the sword from his hands, and Cullen saw it fly off to his right. He ducked behind the shield as the dragon faced him, still unleashing a stream of fire. Pressing its advantage, the dragon raked a hand over Cullen’s shield, and the barrier flew away, clattering in the opposite direction his sword had gone.

Cullen felt his arm wrench, elbow popping out of place and settling back in. Pain shot up his arm, numbed his left hand. He turned and sprinted towards his sword, knowing he wouldn’t be able to properly hold the shield any longer. The dragon flapped its wings, raising itself into the air as it chased after him. Heat caught his heels, and Cullen dove forward once more, snatching up the blade. A burst of blue light caught him, tingling along his body as rolled to his feet. It was surprising, but not harming him, and so he ignored it. In one smooth motion, he turned, aimed for the flying beast, and hurled the blade into the air. 

The blue sparkling sword spun, aim true, and sunk deeply into the soft chest of the dragon. The enchantment on the sword burst; power rippling through the dragon’s chest. A sharp scream tore from the dragon, his wings halting, and it slowly fell from the air. Cullen ran to the side, dodging the body as it crashed to the ground, forcing the blade further into its heart. 

He stood panting, warily keeping an eye on the prone form. It did not move for a long moment, then slowly, little flecks of it flew away in the air. Before his eyes, the body disintegrated, power pulsing outward, releasing into a great rush. 

When it was obvious it was dead, Cullen spun, sprinting back towards Paile. The mages were gathered around her, glowing hands pressed to her body. She was calmer, breathing deeply, the spell that had been holding her barely there. He stopped by the bed, the armor that had been protecting him dissolving as Vivienne focused her attention elsewhere. With worry, he watched as the three of them concentrated, their combined power breaking up the spell. 

Solas dropped his hands, sighing deeply. Cullen took that to mean they were done; for good or evil he didn’t know, though. Cullen climbed onto the bed, lifting Paile’s limp body, gathering her against his chest. He was shaking as he wrapped his body around her slight form, unable to prevent himself from squeezing her, worry building as she still retained the unfocused look. “Help her!” He beseeched the mages, a hand sinking into her hair, turning her face into his neck. “Why isn’t she moving?” He knew he voice was bordering on hysterical, but he didn’t care.

Dorian reached out and touched a hand to his shoulder, speaking in soothing tones, “She will be alright, Cullen. Drained, no doubt, but we got to her in time. Thank the Maker you were watching over her.” 

Cullen nodded, throat tight and eyes burning. He dropped his head, pressing his face to her silky hair, taking in great gulping breaths. He pulled her closer, ignoring the mages watching. His bones rattled loosely in his skin, only the solidarity of her in his arms grounding him. He had been so close. So close to losing her forever.

She stirred finally, shifting her legs. Cullen opened his eyes, gazing down at her in concern. She blinked several times, and slowly the haziness fell from her eyes. He took a deep breath, relief tingling through his body. It was short lived, however, as her form slowly started to fade, her presence slipping from his hands. He cried out, frantically grabbing her arms. For a second, her clear amethyst gaze met his. Her mouth dropped open, a gasp widening her eyes, confusion blazing and then she disappeared from the Fade completely. He roared, anguish flooding through him.

“She has awoken, Cullen.” Solas shouted over him. “It is time for us to do the same.” Solas put a hand on Vivienne, and she vanished, the action repeated to Dorian. “Your turn. And I will be able to help you.” Solas’s hand dropped to his bare shoulder before he could ask what Solas meant with his words, and Cullen’s world went black once again.

***

Paile blinked awake, her room illuminated with moonlight. A hand was pressed to her forehead, a figure looming over her. She gasped and scrambled backwards, getting caught up in the sheet. She bumped into Lion, motionless at her side. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, but she caught her breath as she recognized the figure. Solas. Solas was in her room. She moved away from the bed, confused and feeling panicked.

She took panting gasps, sides aching, feeling as if she had just been in an intense fight. Her eyes adjusted, and she made out the shape of Dorian and Vivienne also standing frozen in the shadows. What was going on? She shifted her eyes down to Lion. She had had another vivid dream. This one had ended with Cullen and Lion, somehow both occupying the same space, the same body. Vague memories made her think that this was not the first time she had dreamed that duality, but for some reason, this time she remembered it.

Vivienne suddenly started, followed quickly by Dorian. They both took a moment to blink open their eyes, and latched on her. They rushed to her side, words overlapping each other. “You are fine, yes? No ill effects? We had to kill the demon, and it took longer than we expected.” Her head whirled, their words reflecting everything that had happened in her nightmare. It had been real? Did that mean Lion was really…

Solas woke up with a start, and he instantly situated himself around the feline unconscious on her bed. He placed his hands on the prone form, and a brilliant white light brightened the room. Her breath coming to her in little gasps, Paile watched as the image flickered, the large cat rippling, features changing. She clapped her hands over her mouth, tears springing to her eyes and she backed away, uncomprehending. Fur shrunk down, limbs lengthened. The paws that had been Lions’ grew, fingers separating and claws shrinking to nails. Smooth bronzed skin was revealed as the fur shrank to a dusting of glinting golden hair. The distinctive scar on Cullen’s lip was revealed, and his beloved face relaxed, once more his own. 

During the transformation, someone had light candles, and the room remained bright as Solas’s spell faded. He stood, stretching, and looked down his handiwork. Cullen lay face down, head turned to the side towards her, once more himself. Paile couldn’t wrap her head around the fact, and she felt tears spill down her cheek, unchecked, her hands trying to muffle her cries. He had been Lion the whole time. _Cullen was Lion._

Cullen’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up suddenly, feet swinging over the edge of the bed and placed on the carpet. He looked down at his hands for a long moment, expression blank. Another sob broke through Paile’s attempts, and Cullen snapped his head up. His eyes focused on her, and the golden color warmed, nothingness changed to a blaze of purpose. Paile stood frozen, unable to move if her life depended on it.

Cullen stood, and slowly stalked towards her, uncaring of his nakedness, dismissing the others in the room. “Everybody out,” he growled, voice husky, gaze never leaving her own. His movements retained the feline grace, and Paile could physically feel his presence, his intent wrapping her, melting the ice she had encased her heart in. 

The others stayed motionless for too long for Cullen, and his voice dropped an octave, growling out a commanding “Now!” Paile shivered, tears falling faster, shock and unfiltered wonder keeping her rooted. 

Dorian coughed delicately, “I believe we should heed the Commander’s orders,” he rushed, and pushed at Vivienne, shamelessly ogling Cullen’s naked form. They cast glances at the two of them, but hurried from the room, door shutting definitely behind them. 

Cullen continued his slow prowl, stalking her, and she stayed fixed to the spot, spellbound. She shivered at his heat, tilting her head back as he came closer, thrilling in the almost imperceptible rumble of his growl. Cullen’s pupils were dilated; a smouldering touch that she responded to, her nipples tightening and heat unfurling low in her belly. She stared at him, hoping that she was not reading him wrong. The tension wracked up between them, thick and tangible, and she stopped breathing entirely as he stopped inches away, towering over her. Paile felt faint, but she couldn't move. Nothing else existed but the two of them, and the world was finally the way it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe, I am evil :P !!!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW!

Cullen stopped inches from Paile, scant space between their bodies. His heartbeat drummed in his ears and he vaguely noted he was breathing heavily. His every sense was attuned to her. When the sound of the door shutting registered, his stomach twisted hard. They were alone.

All those months of covertly wanting her and these past weeks of the agony of staying by her side pushed at him. He had every intention of grabbing her, bringing her hard against his body and devouring her, but he locked himself down, unsure. She still stood frozen, hands clasped tight over her mouth, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. He gently raised his hands, desperate to touch her, easing his fingers slowly into her hair and along her pointed ears, cupping her cheeks. He wiped at her tears, brushing his thumbs along her _vallaslin._

“Paile,” he whispered her name, the beautiful word threaded with all the love and desire twisting through him. His eyebrows cranked down, and he closed his eyes, dropping his forehead to hers. He heard her sharp inhalation, felt her body tense even more. “I want… I need…” a breath punched from his lungs. “Tell me to go.” 

Even though the words were agony, he couldn’t force this on her, couldn’t push her to accept him if she didn’t desire this. He may love her fiercely, but he didn’t know if she truly wanted him as he did her. All he had were a few words spoken while she was in the grips of a nightmare. He opened his eyes, searching for an answer, her shimmering tears making her eyes crystalline clear, cut amethyst beyond any worth. He hoped, desperation eating at his control, but he pushed out the next words. “If you don’t want this… tell me to go.”

A strangled cry rose in her throat, more tears slipped from her eyes, and she threw her arms around his neck, rising up on her toes. Her fingers clawed into his hair, and she pulled his head down, crashing her lips against his. Cullen shuddered, a moan rumbling from his chest, and he let go, control dissolving completely. 

He dropped one arm down around her waist, hauling her body against his, pressing her as close as possible. The other fisted in her silver hair, positioning her head just so. The change in angle allowed him to kiss her as he had dreamt of so many time, and he wasted not a moment. He crushed his lips to hers, moving greedily, sipping, brushing back at forth. She responded as eagerly as he did, gasping as he sucked at the fullness of her bottom lip. He somehow tore his lips away, raining kisses down on the delicate skin of her cheekbones, the pointed tip of the tattoo on the bridge of her now, brushing kisses along her _vallaslin,_ true kisses this time instead of rasps of his cat tongue. 

“Cullen!” she gasped, squirming in his arms. Her movements rubbed her clothed breasts across his chest, her hips against his own. He moaned, the friction tensing him even tighter. His shaft throbbed, insistent against her softness. She deliberately moved her hips again, pressing up into him, gasps dropping her mouth open. Cullen cursed, and dove back to her swollen lips. Open mouth kisses turned into tongues tangling, breath stolen from each other and given back. She licked at his lips, tasting his scar, lavishing attention on it, before diving back in. She tasted like life, flowers and forests, sweet, with lingering hints of the wine that she had drunken earlier. Delectable. Her scent surrounded him, drawing him down further. 

Paile’s hands roved over his bare skin, blunted nails dragging down his back, biting into his biceps as she pulled herself up, trying to get as close as possible. She dragged one knee up to his hip, and rubbed at his arousal restlessly. An incoherent rumble burst from his chest, and he dragged his hands down to her shifting muscled ass, pressing closer, pulling her up. 

She moaned at the friction, grinding against his cock. Her head dropped back bonelessly on her neck, baring her throat. He cranked his eyes open, taking her in. Her face was flushed, pink riding high along her cheeks and her delicately pointed ears. Her long silver hair tangled down her back and over her too covered breast, teasing his chest and arm with the silken heat. Her lids were pressed closed, expression of concentrated rapture as she ground against him, chasing his cock and her climax. “You are magnificent,” he breathed, feeling the impact of her like a punch.

Cullen dropped his lips to the delicate lines of her collar bones, raking his teeth along the exposed flesh, and swung her up into his arms. In fast strides, he brought her to the bed, pitching her body down. Her eyes flew open as she bounced on the mattress, hungry gaze sweeping over his body, and she bit into her lip, her amethyst gaze darkening even further. Cullen sucked in breaths sharply, trying to gain control. 

With deliberate movements he crawled over her, placing knees on either side of her hips, pressing down on her thighs. She moaned, eyes darting from his face, down his chest and stomach, latching onto his cock. Her hands shot out, but he grabbed her wrists, bracing them above her head. His shaft throbbed, the thought of her hands on him too much. If she wrapped her palms around him, he would be lost.

Sucking hard breaths through his nose, he shackled her wrists in one hand. She fought against it, tried to move her body beneath his weight as he pinned her. She was strong, ladened with muscles, could probably match him equally normally, but she had been weakened tonight. The horror of what they had just come through gripped him hard, forcing him to revel in the feeling of her alive and safe from danger. 

His instincts were telling him to take control, to possess her, imprint himself so deeply in her memory no other would remain. A primitive want to be the man who she would always return to, needing him as much as he needed her. As he took a second to watch her writhe, though, he realized that some days she would win this contest of dominance, and he shuddered in pleasure, eager to experience the erotic battle. 

He cupped her face, dipping his thumb into her mouth, and she sucked at it, tasting and swirling her tongue around the tip. He swallowed, cock jerking, and slowly drew it from her mouth, painting a wet path down her throat, across her bared chest, stopping at the buttons of her shirt. He fumbled with the openings, fingers clumsy and uncooperative. He was able to open just a few before his patience deserted him, and he tore it open with a snarl, buttons flying from the garment. She cried out, pressing her chest up, and he finally smoothed his hands along her ribcage, revealing one breast, then the other. 

Her nipples were still pink, flushed darker now in arousal, peaked and begging for his touch. He absently ran his free hand over his mouth, licking at his lips. She arched up, gaze fastened on his slickened mouth, eager for what must be stamped over his features. Gaze running greedily over her exposed skin, he smoothed his hand down the muscled planes of her stomach, teasing at her belly button, before easing into the waist band of her pants. His fingers moved through her soft curls, and he finally cupped her. 

She was wet, so wet. “Yes! Cullen!” She cried, twisting, trying to build friction. He closed his eyes, breath shuddering out in a moan, and dropped his head. He worshiped at her little nipples and plush breasts, licking and suckling, rasping his stubble across them. He moved his fingers slowly, working at her clitoris, winding her up. He glanced at her face from under his eyebrows, watching as she built higher and higher. She strained against his hold, pushing up at him, ragged moans increasing in volume.

She was on the precipice, and he slowly worked a finger inside of her, wanting to watch her fall apart. “Cullen,” she gasped, eyes flying open, “wa… wait!” He froze, finger barely in her, tongue distended in a lick over her breast. Her breath shuddered out at the sight that greeted her, but she pushed words through. “I haven’t… I have never… done this.” 

Cullen reared back, feeling like he had been sucker punched. The feeling was quickly replaced with an immensely savage thrill, and he resisted the temptation to roar in possessive claiming. Carefully he extracted his hand, almost groaning at the loss. “I didn’t think…” he shook his head, trying to clear his brain. He was going too fast, pushing this too far. He released her wrists, and sat up on his knees, putting distance between them, no longer touching her.

She instantly raised herself, pushing herself upright. “No, Cullen. Don’t stop.” She sank her hands in his curling hair, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I want this.” She bit at her lip, uncertainty spreading across her features. “I mean… if you still want me?”

“Always,” he rasped out, seizing her shoulders, adamant he tell her, show her. “I love you Paile.” He brushed a tender kiss across her lips. “I have for a long time now.”

A tumultuous smile broke from her, the light warming her from the inside out, and he basked in it, her beauty only enhanced by her sweet nature. “These weeks have been torturous, when I couldn’t see you, when I thought you left willingly.” Tears gathered in her eyes once more, a solitary one escaping to slide down her cheek. “Because, I don’t ever want to lose you. I love you, Cullen.”

Cullen’s heart filled his chest, unbelieving and in awe. “You love me.” He repeated, unable to fully comprehend. “You love me.” 

She smiled through her tears, nodding at the inherent question. “Always,” she repeated his words. “I will always love you, Cullen.”

Emotions rushed through him, and he screwed his eyes tight, fighting back the burn in his throat. He dropped his forehead to hers once more, savoring the bonds he felt wrapping around his soul, sealing her to him forever. He brushed his lips over her lips, cheeks, forehead, ears. Desire still held him in its grasp, possessiveness riding him hard, but he slowed. He would treasure this moment, and make it as special for her as humanly possible. Even if it killed him.

***

Cullen’s golden eyes burned, intently watching her face as he eased her back down. He smoothed his hands over her body, down her sides, fingers barely there as he worked her night shirt off. She had been so close to coming earlier, his fingers and tongue working her to a lather, that the whisper light touches just agonized her, ratcheting her up. She wished for the intensity once more, but she could tell from his handsome set features that he was determined to go slowly, make this last. 

His hands slipped down to her hips, easing her pants and panties down her legs, gaze never leaving hers. She fought to keep her eyes open, passion attempting to pull them down. She restlessly moved her hands along his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath her greedy hands. She recognized the warmth pouring from his golden gaze, had seen it in Lion’s eyes. He had loved her before he had turned into Lion? The difference was now there was an intenseness with the warmth, his ability to act on the desire deepening the color, pupils large and consuming.

He dropped little kisses down her body, crawling backwards until he rested in the juncture of her thighs. She grew dizzy, unable to catch a breath as she caught on to what he planned to do. He spread her knees, looping his arms under them and drawing them over his shoulders. His tore his gaze from hers, and stared down at her wetness, absorbed. She felt her first fission of embarrassment, shifting on the bed, licking her lips self-consciously.

He groaned, hot breath feathering over her heat, and she gasped. Hypersensitive. His eyes flew upwards and locked on her face. He extended his talented tongue, and licked upward, sliding through her heat and flicking at the bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. She dropped backwards, the erotic sight leaving her breathless, able to do nothing except watch and grasp at his curls as he groaned, settling in again.

She couldn’t keep her eyes open, body undulating in waves. He set a slow pace at first, broad sweeping licks varied with little biting kisses on her sensitive inner thighs, suckling gently at her clit. But as her groans increased in volume, so did his fervidity. Soon he swept in deeper, pushing his tongue inside her, his growls vibrating through her, vamping her up even further. He moved one hand from around her thigh, no longer needing to hold her open, then slowly worked a finger inside. She cried out at the pleasure it brought, zinging tingles racing through her belly and breast, concentrating on the center he worked so reverently.

“Come for me,” he growled, and he sucked hard at her clit, pushing another finger inside, moving them faster and faster. An explosion of sensation started deep within her, and she screamed as it tore through her. Brilliant waves crashed through her core, radiating outwards. She moved mindlessly, nails clenched into his scalp, his continued suckling and moving fingers making her pleasure stutter into another meltdown and her mind blanked in the explosive sensations.

She came back to herself slowly, drawing deep breaths as she lay boneless on the bed, eyes closed in bliss. Cullen pulled back from her, and she let her hands fall laxly to her sides. He hissed in a pained breaths through his teeth, groaning, and she languidly opened her eyes. 

He kneeled at her feet, hand clenched around his cock. Every muscle was clenched tight, his head thrown back, eyes franticly flicking over her splayed body, throat working in desperate gulps as he tried to control himself. Her eyes latched onto his cock, fascinated as the head pulsed. He groaned at her gaze, cock yielding another bead of liquid. She licked her lips and sat up, reaching forward. 

“Do you want me too…?” she hesitated, darting a questioning gaze up to him.

“Yes,” He groaned, drawing out the word, and she smiled wickedly, moving the last few inches. His free hand shot out, though, stopping her from touching him. “I won’t last.” He ground out, nostrils flared in savage masculine beauty. “And I want to be in you.” Heat gathered in her core at his words, and she whimpered, tension coiling once more. 

“Lay back,” he ordered, and she obeyed her commander, easing slowly down. He closed his eyes tightly, hand still wrapped firmly around his cock, sucking in breaths slowly. The erotic sight of him wrestling for control, so viscerally, did dangerous things to her, and she rubbed her thighs together, eager for him again. Creators, he was gorgeous. Every defined muscle was clenched in sharp relief, begging for her to drag her fingers down his stomach, rake at his thighs, curl around his biceps, circle along his shaft. Every white scar begged for her lips and tongue, for fingertips to trace and learn. But she knew he was barely holding on, and so she contented herself to watch as his muscles bulged and rippled, cock twitching.

Breathless moments passed before he opened his eyes again. She shivered at the wicked intent there, and he crawled predatorily up her body. He dropped to his elbows, and with a roll of his hips pressed against her bare flesh. They groaned in unison, her wetness coating along his rigid length, and he ground against her clit. Cullen took her mouth in a brutal kiss, claiming her, pushing them both back to the limit. Her legs slid up his thighs, wrapping around his hips, tilting her core. For a brief second he aligned perfectly, cock head slipping along her heat, before he rolled his hips away, teasing them both mercilessly. 

“Cullen!” She cried out, head thrashing at the pleasure, her silky hair tickling her skin. Her nipples scrapped across the fine golden dusting of hair on his chest, and she pressed closer for more, eager for his velvety skin and the friction they generated. Their bodies were slick with sweat, sticking and sliding as they ground against each other. “Hurry!”

He finally grasped himself, and aligned with her opening. He slowly pushed himself inside, hissing in agonized pleasure. “Maker’s breath,” he groaned, “you are so… I can’t… _fuck._ ” More wetness bloomed within her at how much he wanted her and she groaned, hands roaming across his back furiously, desperately. 

He came to her virginal barrier, pausing briefly, before pulling open his eyes. “Paile. Look at me.” He commanded, and she helplessly obeyed. Staring into the love and desire warring across his face, she felt him push through and seat himself deeply inside her. They both groaned, unimaginable pleasure ripping through them, and he started to move. He pulled back slowly at first, dragging until only the head of his cock remained, then pushed back in, slowly getting her accustomed to the sensations.

She was so wet, so turned on that she urged him on faster, unhurt. She sank her fingers into his flexing ass, pushing up as he thrust forward. He cursed again, and snaked an arm under her waist, lifting and arching her into position. The angle forced him deeper, and they cried out, picking up speed. 

He alternated deep thrusts and shallow teases. Sitting himself deeply inside her then rolling his hips, grinding at her clit. She felt the pressure building in her once more, unable to keep her eyes open. He unleased himself on her, and she gave just as eagerly, every movement pleasure. He rasped words, calling her his darling, telling her how long he had dreamed of this, of all the things he wanted to do with her. He rasped his golden stubble along her neck, rearing back and holding her hips, slamming back home hard. He suckled at her nipples, everything so sensitive now.

“Can’t last,” He pushed out, words felt more than heard. “Going to come,” he groaned, and he brought his talented fingers back to her clit, thrumming and rolling until she burst apart, screaming his name. She rippled around him, drawing him deeper, and he collapsed onto her, pushing his face into her neck, hips jerking, setting himself deeply. He moaned, teeth biting into her shoulder, and she felt him burst inside, his orgasm punching from him. He jerked with each heady blast, body rippling and surging, her name piercing through her own blissful haze. 

For a long moment, he lay heavily on her, their breaths the only sound in the room. Paile slowly got her bearings, lovingly smoothing her hands up and down his sweat streaked back. With a deep sigh, Cullen pulled back from her, worry creasing his brow. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His voice was deep, gravelly from his shouts. His warm gaze roved over her face, seeking any signs of discomfort. “I am afraid I was a bit… mindless.” His expression turned sheepish, pink dusting his cheeks. 

She cupped his beloved face, scraping her palms along his stubble, threading her fingers into the lock of unruly, curling hair that spilled over his forehead and smoothing it back. “I loved it,” she answered him honestly, smiling up at him tenderly. “Everything is perfect.” 

His breathtaking smile made her chest feel tight, unable to cope with the overwhelming emotions sweeping her along. “I love you. You know that, right?” she whispered up to him. He dropped his head, feeding her sweet and loving kisses. 

“I do.” He murmured against her lips. “And you know I love you, right?” he asked, smirk drawing his scar up, quirking against her skin, the darkness that so frequently had haunted and sunken his eyes gone, replaced by a golden happiness. She thrilled in the look; he was at peace, relaxed and gazing at her with all the love she had ever dreamed of. 

A happy laugh rose from her chest, curling her lips against his, and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling his own arms squeeze her just as tightly. “I do, Cullen, my Lion. I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weew! Hope you all thought the wait was worth it! If it had taken any longer to come about, I am pretty sure some of you would have hunted me down, lol :D


	26. Chapter 26

Paile woke slowly, eyes still closed, savoring the languid satisfaction still thrumming through her body. Her lips curled upwards, unable to contain her joy. Cullen’s deliciously hard body was pressed to hers, her head on his shoulder, their legs intertwined. A heavy arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her in tight, deep breaths ruffling the hair along her forehead and feathering across her ear. Her hand was slipped into his curls, her sleeping habits with Lion transferring to his human self. She felt at peace, whole. 

 

She opened her eyes and shifted, pulling back to look at his face. His eyes opened at her movements, and they smiled at each other for a long moment. He had been awake, then, savoring the same unity she felt. “Good morning,” he breathed, leaning in and brushing a kiss across her lips. His hand around her waist danced figures absentmindedly along her bare skin, sending little shivers skittering along her spine. 

 

“Good morning, Cullen.” The light filtering through her windows was bright, the sky a vivid blue of a bright winter’s day, highlighting the room. “Or I think good afternoon, would be more correct,” she grinned up at him impishly. “I think we got carried away last night.”

 

His face went bright red, and he darted his gaze away, licking his lips in embarrassment. After their first lovemaking, Cullen had cleaned them both, lingering over her, learning her body, before she had returned the favor. They had come together once more in the early morning, reverently, lovingly. She had felt his wonder, his awe with every touch. She didn’t know how she had gotten so lucky; couldn’t believe that he loved her as she loved him. But she was going to hold onto him with both hands tightly. They had come so close to losing each other, she wasn’t going to waste another second.

 

“You, ah… you aren’t mad that I, that when I was Lion, stayed with you?” He darted little glances at her face, wincing and rambling. “At first you were hurt, and then you actually seemed to want me there. But I was a cat, at least that’s what you thought. Maybe, now that you know who I am, I mean, what I am, who Lion actually was, maybe you feel like I crossed a boundary?” Paile listened to his frantic explanations, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling in amusement. The man was a stammering mess trying to explain himself, but his arms were still firm around her, tensing as if she might escape. “I love you. I have for a while now, I just wanted to stay with you. Not that that means I expected you to want me back! I just thought it was my only opportunity. I… I never expected to be able to hold you like this. I am sorry,” He finished softly, his apology and all his past longings stamped on his features.

 

Paile gently raked her fingers through his hair. “Cullen, nothing could have made me happier to find out that the man I love turned out to be my best friend as well.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, trying to convey everything inside her. “I don’t think you have anything to be sorry for, but if you want my forgiveness, then of course you have it.”

 

He cleared his throat, finally looking back into her eyes, golden gaze meltingly soft. “Thank you.” He played with the ends of her hair, combing his fingers through it. They savored the silence, before he spoke again. “We didn’t push too hard for you last night, did we?” Concern pulled his brows down, “I just couldn’t help myself, you are… Maker, but you were...” 

 

She smoothed her thumbs along his eyebrows as he stuttered, trying to ease the frown off his face, dragging her fingertips down to his fascinating scar, tracing it and then his sensual lips. “I wanted everything just as much as you. And as for if I am alright…” She stretched, moving her body against his, rubbing her breasts on his chest. She pushed her hips against his, feeling the tingle of desire race through her once again, “Why don’t we find out?” She smirked, feeling him harden with each surge of her hips, friction building.

 

“Maker’s breath,” he exhaled, before he rolled over her, pushing her down into the mattress and kissing her laughter away, replacing it with a hungry gasp. 

 

“How long have you wanted to do this to me?” She grinned up at him wickedly, an eyebrow arching imperiously, teasing as she continued to thrust her hips against his. Her arms were crossed over his shoulders, attempt at feigned negligence ruined by her own rapid breathing, the warmth spreading over her skin.

 

He propped himself up on one arm, rubbing at his neck, cheeks still pink, but now more from arousal than self-consciousness. “Longer than I should admit.” The shift rubbed himself at her core, and she moaned as she grew wetter.

 

“Me too, Cullen. Me too,” She whispered as she pulled his head down.

 

***

 

They confidently walked into the Main Hallways, side by side, attempting to look as if nothing had happened. The blush staining both of their cheeks, the late hour, and how they both just glowed with inner light gave them away, though. The whispers that had been racing through the castle became even more frenzied, snippets of their story somehow already know. Cullen felt his face burn, but he pushed ahead, ignoring it as best he could. They had better explain, tell the true story, before something outrageous became the normal. His lips quirked; well, he wasn’t sure how much more excessive their story could get, but for Paile’s sake he should try to calm the gossip. 

 

At least he had his customary clothing. Paile had dressed, teasing him slowly as he laid watching her, with the intention of finding a servant to request some of his things be brought. She had opened the door, though, and his armor had been folded neatly, cleaned and polished. They had known then that their secret was out; somehow his naked presence in her room had become at least moderately common knowledge. And he bet who he could thank for that… at their next chess match, Dorian would suffer a crushing defeat. 

 

Ignoring the titters and significant looks flying through the room, they made their way to Josephine’s office, closing the door behind them. Cullen left his hands pressed on the door, and they sighed at the same time. Their gaze met, laughing smiles hanging in the air between them. Her eyes were bright with amusement, their amethyst color glittering happily. 

 

“Ahem!” Leliana’s voice jerked them from each other, surprised there was someone else in the room. Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana all stood behind Josephine’s desk, their own amusement suppressed to varying degrees. Josephine looked delighted, Leliana knowingly, and behind Cassandra’s air of disapproval, her eyes beamed. 

 

He straightened quickly; embarrassed they had caught him ogling Paile. He knew that the gossip would spread, there was no stopping that. But if he could, he would have kept their new love just between the two of them; cherished their moments together with no fear of what anyone else would say. He wanted to give her no reason to regret what had happened between them, no reason to worry. 

 

“Cullen,” Josephine hurried around her desk, giving him a brief, happy hug. “I am ever so pleased to see you. We were all so worried!” She stepped back, turned to Paile. “And you! Should you be up? Vivienne let us know of what happened in the night. How horrifying it must have been!” 

 

Paile rushed in to assure her, “I am perfectly alright, don’t worry about me, Josie. Solas and the others got to me in time. Cullen,” her eyes flicked to him, too warm smile putting a canary grin on her face, “made sure that I was always safe. Especially during the night. Quite satisfactorily too, I must say.” She quirked an eyebrow up, eyes dancing and lips smirking. 

 

“Well,” Leliana laughed, “I hope you thanked the Commander, Herald. It must have been such a demanding night, Cullen. Maybe you are the one who should be resting?” Cullen felt his ears burn, he was blushing so hard. They all laughed at his discomfort, teasing gazes and jests making him feel right back at home.

 

Still laughing, the women all followed Cassandra to the war room. As Paile turned to be the last in line, Cullen grasped her about her waist, trapping her arms, hauling her back against his body. He turned her head up and to the side, lips crashing down on her gasp, taking her mouth in a passionate kiss. He gave her no inch as he kissed her breathless, tongue and teeth working her until she sagged and whimpered. He pulled away, smirking down at her passion glazed eyes, her breasts moving rapidly as she gulped in breaths. 

 

He pressed his lips against her ear, “My little Paile,” he whispered hotly, “You shouldn’t tease. You have no idea how demanding my retribution can be.” He nipped at her pointed ear and her body shuddered in reaction. He pulled away, filing that reception away for later use, satisfied smirk still in place, and sauntered into the war room.

 

It was a few minutes before she walked in. She came to his side, and cast him a dark glance, but he could see the anticipation there too. Maker, he couldn’t wait to get her alone again.

 

The conversation stayed light, questions barely held in check, as they waited for the others to join them. Quickly, the room filled up, all their friends clapping him on the back or shaking his hand, expressing their delight in having him back. Everyone danced around the subject, but it was there, their questions hovering on the tips of their tongues.

 

“Oh, get on with it!” Sera finally cried out, halting all conversations. “How’d you get all shrinky and cat-ified?” 

 

Cullen coughed, slightly startled at the attention, and raised his eyebrows. Everyone turned their gaze to his, rapt fascination not wavering. He sighed, beginning, “Well, I guess it started the night I disappeared…” he trailed off, noticing Varric whipping out a notebook, quill raised. “No,” he commanded, shaking his head at the dwarf. “This doesn’t get to be one of your stories.”

 

“Why not?” Varric asked, baffled, “You got turned into a cat! Do you expect me to sit on a story like that and not write it? You seriously can’t make this shit up!”

 

“No,” Cullen repeated, crossing his arms across his chest. Paile didn’t need the attention this tale would create. She already had too many things to worry about. 

 

Varric dangled the journal in his hand, crossing his own arms across his chest, copying his stance. “Fine. But I guess that means Tiny here,” he nudged Iron Bull with his elbow, “will have to help me remember it later, and we will just write it down together. With some added elements.”

 

Iron Bull let out a shout, “Ha! Oh, this is going to be good.” He grinned widely, a gleam in his dark eyes.

 

Cullen shot a helpless glance down to the small elf at his side. She just smiled up at him, and shrugged. “Varric is going to write it anyways, you know. Might as well get it somewhat accurate.”

 

He groaned, defeated. If she wasn’t bothered by it, than that was it, then. This was going to haunt him for the rest of his life, though. He just knew it.

 

He set into his story, describing the hazy memory of that late night fight with the mage and the assassin, telling them how he had felt the mage’s spell twist with his own weak counter spell and the presence of the Red Lyrium. How he had escaped those two, racing outside. He talked of discovering that he had been transformed, and of his subsequent first days, trying to hide from anyone, except the poor kitchen elf he had frightened. Most of them had a knowing look in their eyes as he stodgily told them that he had appointed himself Paile’s bodyguard when he realized that someone could get to her. He ignored the smirks and nudges, knowing he fooled no one. 

 

He then went on to describe how he had tried to get the mages to notice his predicament, and when that didn’t work, decided to train himself to fight in his new form so he could be of some use. He didn’t mention how he had let his attempts to get the mage's attention slide, eager to keep sleeping next to Paile, be her confidant. They didn’t need to know that. 

 

He and Paile filled in the story of their training, of taking Suledin Keep, and what had happened the previous night, to the best of their knowledge. How he hadn’t been able to wake her and that the Anchor had been reacting violently.

 

Solas told his part, speaking briefly about moving into the fade, before Dorian took over the narrative. He threw himself into the performance, gesturing wildly and embellishing the fight lavishly. Cullen interjected several times, reassuring others that he had not been naked the whole fight. There had been no sun to ‘gleam off his glistening pectorals’. That he hadn’t been mostly inside the Archdemon’s mouth, only his shoulder had been. That he hadn’t somehow leapt 20 feet in the air and plunged the sword through the dragon’s skull in a single blow. 

 

Paile listened just as closely as the rest of the audience; she hadn’t been aware of the fight taking place around her. She gasped at the details, shooting wide eyed glances up at him after each of Dorian’s excessive praises. Cullen felt a swell of pride, and pushed down the smile. It wouldn’t do to encourage the mage. 

 

“Paile was released and magically restored. And then, before our very eyes, Lion transformed into our Commander, Solas able to remove the wicked spell trapping him in his oh so fluffy body.” Dorian turned his smirk to Cullen. “He then proceeded to order us to leave the room, forcing us to leave him and our dear Herald alone together. He was definitely naked, this time, I might add.” His exaggerated eyebrow waggle made Cullen shift, uncomfortable but able to deny none of it. “He looked as if he were going to claim a token from our faire maiden. Tell me Cullen,” Dorian grinned evilly, “did you sweep her off her feet?” 

 

Cullen gulped, and shot his gaze down to the purple ones that flicked up to meet his. Their eyes stuck, before they glanced away, and he felt his blush rise in his cheeks and spread across to his ears. He cleared his throat, and rubbed at the back of his neck, desperately trying to think of something. They fooled no one, their blushes and glow speaking novels. 

 

A cheer rose up from their friends, applause for the story and its happy ending ringing through the room. Varric leaned forward, quill poised over the book, intent on him. “So Fluffy, did you sweep her off her feet, or was it the other way around?”

 

***

 

Paile sighed, hands braced on the ornate railing of the balcony, breathing in the cool, perfumed air of Halamshiral’s garden. She closed her eyes, soaking in the sounds of night, the tinkling music drifting from the open doors behind her, the hum of conversation almost quiet out here. Tonight had been trying, but she thought it was finally over with. Empress Celene was still alive, and Paile had somehow gotten Duke Gaspard and Briala to work together with the Empress, instead of them all trying to overthrow each other. There had been too many fights while wearing a ball gown and too much playing The Game for her to be pleased with how the evening had gone, but somehow she had done it.

 

Familiar footsteps trod behind her, came up to her side. “I was worried about you tonight,” Cullen slipped his leather clad hand across her bare back, comforting her. “But you were magnificent,” he smiled, leaning against the railing, shoulder touching hers. 

 

The past month had been the most blissful she had ever been. She had never felt anything like how she felt for Cullen, and she knew it was the same for him. He had moved into her room, and they slept side by side there. They comforted each other when nightmares shook them, and Paile was working on methods to help with his Lyrium withdrawals. He said they were better than they had been; perhaps he was finally overcoming it. As she got to know him better, she just fell in love with him more. He looked more rested and happier than she had ever seen him, and she was determined that it would continue.

 

She turned to face him, and twining her fingers with his, and he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across the back. “I am so glad it’s done,” she confessed, moving a step in closer to him. If they were caught, she could just claim they were discussing Inquisition business with her Commander, nothing more. She wasn’t quite plastered to his front; though she wished to be, for him to wrap his arms around her and hold her close.

 

Cullen moved back a step, a twinkle in his eye. He bowed, gently tugging on her captured hand. “A dance, my lady?” 

 

Paile smiled, “I thought you didn’t dance?” She teased, stepping into his body as he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her closer than was strictly correct. His body brushed against the feathers sewn onto her dark, shimmering gown, his palm flattening possessively at her low, open back. 

 

“I will try. For you,” he smiled, pulling her into the waltzing steps. “Have I told you that you look ravishing this evening?” He asked huskily, his eyes sweeping down her body, that roguish smirk drawing heat from her, as he knew it did. 

 

“Only ten times,” she whispered, feeling as beautiful as he claimed. Her dress had been done with her native Dalish designs, fabric strips weaving intricately, feathers so black they were almost purple sewn throughout. It crossed at her shoulder blades, but left her back bare until very low, and it swept down to the floor, shimmering with each movement she made. The front wove up high to contrast just how far down her back was open. Feathers trickled from her shoulders, but nothing covered her arms. If one looked, they could see the multitude of scars scattering her exposed skin, could see her lean strength. 

 

The skirt was full, giving her legs room to run and move in, and she had needed it. Cleverly hidden toggles were sewn into the folds so that she was able to bundle it up, out of the way. She bore no mask; wearing her vallaslin proudly for all to see, silver hair half up, the rest cascading down her back in a silken sheath. The dress and the lighting made her amethyst eyes glow, so very different from anyone else’s. She was dressed like no other, looked like no other. Her coloring, outfit, obvious Dalish trappings, and her warrior presence making her stand out, drawing all eyes. She was proud to be herself, standing tall as the Inquisitor. Just ready to be done with it all.

 

Cullen looked just as handsome as she thought he would, his crimson and gold uniform militaristic, showing everyone that their army was as formidable as its handsome Commander. She had personally helped outfit him, making him stand in the middle of their room as she had teased fingers over his naked skin, taking the measurements needed. They had gotten little done during their private fittings, though, and finally their fashion minded friends had had to step in and take over. But Cullen had picked out the insignia on all of his buttons, fierce lion’s heads roaring in triumph. 

 

The Players of The Game had eaten the Inquisition’s presentation up, but the ball was winding down. Paile stepped closer, uncaring if they were seen any longer, and placed her head against his shoulder, turning into his neck. She breathed in his unique scent, and sighed contentedly, happy to be in his strong arms. “I love you Cullen.”

 

He pressed his lips to her forehead, swaying them gently to the music of the waltz, “I love you too Paile. Always.”

 

“Always,” she repeated. The stars as their only witness, bathed in moonlight, the Herald of Andraste danced with her Lion.

 

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end of my crazy story! I am so glad you guys all enjoyed it and stuck with me :D
> 
> Now, drumroll for the final secret!!!!
> 
> Who of you noticed it was actually an AU of The Sleeping Beauty?!
> 
>  
> 
> Did you ever wonder why I wrote about sleeping all the time, lol?
> 
> Three faeries? How about three mages?  
> -Vivienne- Flora  
> -Dorian- Fauna  
> -Solas- Merryweather
> 
> 'I walked with you Once upon a dream?'  
> -Paile saw Cullen and Lion mashed together a couple times in her (literal) dreams!
> 
> Mistaken Identity?  
> -Paile didn't know Lion's true self!
> 
> Having to get married to someone they didn't love?  
> -Okay, this was a bit of a stretch, but I justified it by Paile thinking Cullen loved someone else and was going to be spending the rest of his life with that woman.
> 
> 'Make it Pink! Make it Blue!'  
> -Pink then blue? Or how about, pink and blue! Which is Purple! So pretty purple dress for Paile!
> 
> Samson, Prince Phillip's horse?  
> -... Don't tell him this, but that is Varric... (I think he would murder me if he knew)
> 
> Maleficent capturing the Prince?  
> -Cullen would have been captured and corrupted, if the spell hadn't gone wrong, by order of Corypheus!
> 
> Maleficent's warthoggy little minions?  
> -Corypheus's Red Lyrium Templars!
> 
> Fairies sneak in castle to free the Prince, and their battle out?  
> -Well, Prince helped to take the castle, but they freed villagers! And lots of battle.
> 
> Prick her finger on the spinning wheel and fall asleep?  
> -The Anchor caused her to be held captive in her nightmares, and she would have slipped into a coma if they hadn't rescued her
> 
> Epic final battle with a Dragon, the Three Faeries, and the Prince?  
> -A battle with Nightmare being the Archdemon, three mages and a Cullen! And I pretty much modeled that whole fight from the fight in the movie, especially with the enchanted sword piercing the dragons chest. 
> 
> A True Love's Kiss to break the spell?  
> -Ahem... how about some True Love Sexy Times instead?! (Okay, okay, I guess we have to give Solas some credit... you know, for the walking into the fade and saving Paile, then turning Lion back into Cullen... just little things)
> 
> The final scene watching the two dance?  
> -Halamshiral balcony dance in the moonlight!
> 
>  
> 
> I tried to be super sneaky about it, waiting to see if anyone noticed... or I got to blindside you all with it! I did a little bit of Beauty and the Beast with Cullen's transformation, but that was not my main focus. 
> 
> Well, I think I am going to take a week or so off before I write my next story. I may do a couple short stories that I have jumping around in my brain, but the next big one will be just as fun! I am going to be tackling The Little Mermaid! Working title is Part Of Your World, and it will be featuring Commander Cullen as the 'Prince' of the Inquisition, Ari'elle Lavellan as the heroine who wants to learn about humans, Solas as the clan's Keeper (King Triton), and Corypheus as Ursula! I have some others cast, but not all. That story will definitely not be as canon as this one tried to be, much more based on the fairy tale, I think. I swear I will write other pairings, lol, I just loooove Cullen and my little elves!
> 
> If you wanna drop me a line, you can leave a comment, or you can chat with me on my [ Tumblr here! ](http://cometeclipsewriting.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I hope to see you all again soon! Hugs and Cullen Kitty kisses to everyone single one of you! You have all been so fantastic, it gives me all the feels!


End file.
